


Burning Hunger

by Vashka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:45:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vashka/pseuds/Vashka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Dragons prey on the innocent countryside, Hermione Granger is sacrificed to satisfy the Silver Dragon’s terrible appetite. Trapped between her blazing sensuality and her desire for home, she must choose where she belongs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One: The Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> This is AU. As in it takes place in a universe OTHER than JK Rowling’s, but uses her characters. I’ve noticed that this is much, much less common in the HP fandom than it is in other fandoms, but maybe it’s just the D/Hr ship? Anyway, more notes later. This is just a let-you-know.

The Dragon came at sunset, as it always did.

 

Flying low over the countryside from the Western Lands, its magnificent silver body reflecting the color of blood, the Dragon snatched and clawed at the precious cattle of the farmers. 

 

As it casually ripped apart the shrieking animals, the thick blood slowly ran down its body, staining its scales scarlet. Hunger appeased, its malevolent silver eyes burning brightly, the Dragon moved inexorably onwards to the crops, spewing fire as it flew slowly over the land as it sated a more cruel appetite.

 

The people of the village knew better than to interfere with the Dragon’s feeding. When it had first started terrorizing the duchy a month ago, Lord Parkinson had sent his finest warriors to meet the creature in battle. All of them perished in terrible agony.

 

One of them was the Lord’s son.

 

Needless to say, there were no more hunting parties.

 

This was over a month ago. Now, the numb, defeated people hid and patiently waited for the silver terror to leave. After it left, they quietly tried to piece their lives back together, but the strain was growing too great. 

 

Over half of the crops sustaining the village and the duchy attached to it had been burned, most of the cattle destroyed. As it was, it looked as if they wouldn’t survive the winter. Another attack would devastate them and doom their small population to death.

 

Something had to be done.

 

000

 

The entire community, from the crazy old witch woman to the youngest newborn babe had gathered in the Lord’s stronghold as he held court to decide what to do about the Dragon. 

 

They had already held a meeting of a similar nature the month prior, after the disaster of a battle that resulted in the loss of some of the duchy’s best warriors. At that time, the Lord had decided to send for the legendary Harold Potter, the Dragon Slayer, and to let the Dragon run wild until someone with more experience could come and take care of the problem for him.

 

However, no word had come from the North, and the days were shortening. Soon it would be winter, and with the crops utterly destroyed, the village would have no chance of survival, Dragon Slayer or no.

 

Now the people were in an utter panic. 

 

Women were crying, babies were shrieking, and men were yelling as they crammed into the Hall of the small Keep. The stench of their unwashed bodies combined with the rank smell of their terror wafted to Lord Parkinson and his retainers sitting upon a raised dais at the end of the rough-hewn Hall.

 

Lord Parkinson was a decent lord, if a little neglectful. He never spent more than what he had in his coffers, he usually pronounced good judgments, and if he was a bit of a weakling, well, the people had seen worse.

 

His daughter was another story. Sixteen, petite and passably pretty, Lady Pansy was utterly spoiled. The only female among a pack of five siblings, she was doted upon by her mother and given everything she could possibly desire. Now of an age to marry, she had been to the King’s court numerous times, and had several offers. 

 

Now, Pansy was lounging restlessly on her seat near her father, half-heartedly listening to the throng of peasants as they voiced their complaints. She and her siblings were due to leave the province for the capital tomorrow morning, to escape the terrible wrath of the Dragon. 

 

Pansy shuddered delicately as she contemplated that monstrous beast. She had never actually seen it, but she was positive it was an ugly, slimy creature. She was glad to be gone from the country and back to Court to settle on a betrothal contract, her only worry was that rumors of this mess would drift to the other nobles and her chances for making a good match would be diminished.

 

Lost in her musings, she was jerked out of her reverie by the sudden shriek of her mother, “No! I will not allow it! There has to be someone else!”

 

Pansy blinked at the sea of eyes that had suddenly focused upon her while she was thinking of her new Court dress. Had she missed something? 

 

Her father sighed wearily as he tried to placate his distraught wife, “We have exhausted every other avenue, Petunia, and this is our last recourse. Our only recourse. I love her too.”

 

Pansy started feel uncomfortable at this turn of the conversation. What _had_ she missed?

 

“I forbid it!” Pansy’s mother screamed, turning upon her father, “You heartless bastard. How could you feed your daughter to that monster?”

 

_Feed your daughter…_

 

All of the blood drained from Pansy’s rouged face, leaving her looking like an expensive porcelain China doll, as the phrase echoed endlessly through her brain.

 

 _…Feed your daughter…_

 

It wasn’t uncommon that villages in desperate straights would sacrifice a local maiden to a Dragon if it looked like a Slayer wouldn’t get there in time. It was also rumored that the nobler the blood, the higher the likelihood the Dragon would be satisfied with the offering never to return.

 

The women never did either.

 

_… Feed…_

 

Lady Pansy wasn’t stupid. It may have appeared so, but she was actually quite canny and her mind worked quite rapidly. Due to her upbringing, the only use she really had for her keen mind was to occasionally plot the downfall of some Court rival, or to capture a handsome bridegroom.

 

Now, seized with panic Pansy’s mind whirled. If ever there was a time to use all her cunning and wiles, this certainly was it.

 

_…Feed…_

 

What were the qualifications for the sacrifice? Virginity, obviously, nobility and beauty. _Who else?_ Pansy thought desperately, _Someone else in this backwater has to fit the requirements…_

 

It clicked.

 

“Hermione Granger!”

 

Everyone looked at Pansy for a stunned moment as she leapt to her feet and trumpeted her conclusion. She saw her mother’s stunned features swiftly morph into calculating glee.

 

“Hermione Granger!” Pansy’s mother repeated triumphantly, jumping up as well and raising her hands out to the crowd as she began to extol Hermione’s virtues. “She is a _perfect candidate_! Much better than my daughter. Her beauty is unrivalled, her intelligence unmatched. Her blood is of the older stock, and it is said that her ancestors descended from those who used to rule these lands, that her blood carries great power. Even though she is only a minor noble now, her blood is perfectly acceptable. Yes, she will make a much better sacrifice than my daughter.”

 

Pansy was a bit miffed at this comparison, but decided to let it go for the time being. She tensed with tightly wound anticipation as she surveyed the assemblage, gauging their reaction. This was a matter of life and death after all. And as she listened to the ecstatic murmurs of the villagers, the color started to return to her face, and her breathing became easier.

 

_She had done it. She had changed their minds and saved her life._

 

“… She’s a spinster anyway, no jilted lover waiting to rescue her…”

 

“… Bossy little minx. I offered for her once, and she looked down her nose at me…”

 

“… Bookish and unnatural. What female knows how to read? It’s better to give her to the Dragon than have her casting spells on us…”

 

“… Financial drain on her family. What can be done with a twenty-two year old woman anyway?”

 

Pansy sighed in contentment. She wouldn’t be eaten after all.

 

000

 

The villagers had come for her in the night.

 

Armed with axes, pitchforks and fire, the mob descended on the small Keep housing the Granger family and its retainers.

 

Hermione had gone to bed, as usual, following a very typical day. It had been moderately good, if exhausting. The dragon hadn’t completely burned all of their crops, so as they ripened, all of the estate was frantically gathering as much as they could for the oncoming winter. After a short supper with her tired family, she bid them goodnight, took a bath and wearily crept into her warm bed.

 

In the dead of night, she erupted from sleep as many large, grasping hands cruelly tore at her body.

Screaming, kicking, fighting off the bandits with all of her strength, her sleep-fuzzed mind was confused and scared. Desperately crying for her father, mother, anyone to come and save her, a meaty fist smashed into her gut stealing her breath and her fight.

 

In a daze, Hermione felt her body lift from the bed, filthy hands groping, grasping at her exposed body. Vaguely, as if in a dream, she heard voices swirling around her head as she was carried.

 

“… She’s to be a virgin! Don’t touch her; else the Creature won’t accept her...”

 

“… Just wanted a little taste. Seems an awful waste…”

 

She was set down into a chair and heard a woman screaming.

 

 _Mother…_

 

Her head pounding fiercely, her body aching, Hermione made an effort to focus on the scene around her. 

 

She was in the Great Room of the Granger Keep. While not as grand as the Parkinson Castle, the Keep was large enough for a prominent family. Filling the large space was a mass of unwashed peasants, armed with pitchforks, wicked looking scythes and axes. Their greedy eyes devoured her, assessing the slender curves revealed by the linen shift she wore to bed. 

 

 _“Hermione!”_

 

The shriek cut through Hermione’s paralysis, spurring her to action. 

 

“What is the meaning of this!”

 

The people stilled, surprised by the power emanating from their heretofore mute captive. Hermione stood abruptly, dark eyes snapping, “Why are you here in my home? My father is the vassal of Lord Parkinson, and his wrath will be great when he hears of this. So leave peaceably and perhaps you can keep you lives.”

 

Hermione glared as members of the crowd only smirked at her in reply, while others hung their heads, ashamed to meet her gaze.

 

A small, round man, his face pointed and pinched stepped forward. Hermione stood firm, her small frame trembling with fury, “Peter Pettigrew. Perhaps you can tell me the meaning of this foolishness?”

 

“Milady, we are here on the orders of Lord Parkinson.”

 

Hermione’s face drained of color, but her gaze was steady.

 

Pettigrew timidly stood up to the imposing lady, wondering, not for the first time, if this was a mistake. 

 

He had always admired the Lady Granger- she was a kind woman and always helped the cottagers whenever their families were ill, or if they had fallen on hard times. It was generally known that she wouldn’t marry, and at the alehouses most of the men would talk about the shame of it all. 

 

For Hermione Granger was a beauty.

 

She wasn’t beautiful in the classical sense of the word, her features were too strong, but there was something sensually, elementally striking about her. 

 

One of her suitors wrote her a sonnet, complementing her fine, creamy skin, her full red lips, and her beautiful russet ringlets. 

 

She laughed at him and sent him packing the next day.

 

Peter Pettigrew admired the Lady greatly, but not at the expense of his own life.

 

“Lady,” he said timidly, “Erhm, well…”

 

“Get on with it!”

 

Pettigrew took a deep breath and spoke quickly, “You have been chosen by the assembly to be sacrificed to the Dragon at Sunset. If you do not comply, the penalty of death and dishonor will befall on all who hold the Granger name.”

 

Hermione blinked.

 

“Come again?”

 

“Uh,” Pettigrew stuttered, “Lady, you have been chosen by the…”

 

“Yes, yes,” Hermione interrupted angrily, eyes glittering, “I heard that part. Tell me this, Peter Pettigrew- why was I chosen, and why was I dragged out of bed like a common criminal, mauled by these ruffians, and why must I do anything you say?”

 

The crowd parted.

 

Lying on the floor were her parents, her beloved parents, her baby sister and her brothers, tied up like dogs. 

 

“Hermione,” Her mother pleaded, “Don’t do it. Don’t give yourself to that beast!”

 

“Silence! If you don’t give her up, you’re a traitor!”

 

The mob’s silence broke. They began yelling at each other, arguing and screaming, crying and pleading. After a moment, their rage and fear turned on a more convenient target- the Grangers. 

 

As they beat them, tortured them, hurt them, Hermione watched, helpless.

 

“Stop! Please stop!”

 

The rabble hushed as they realized Hermione had spoken.

 

“I’ll do it.”

 

The crowd broke into rapturous cries, drowning out the screams of the Grangers.

 

Peter Pettigrew rubbed his dirty hands together eagerly. “Ready her.”

 

000

 

The dressing chamber, usually a hubbub of women chattering, was eerily silent as the women prepared Hermione. Bathing her skin with the finest of soaps, they perfumed her body with the finest Turkish incense. They dressed her carefully in a lovingly crafted white silk gown, which flowed over her curves like water. 

 

Hermione had known these women all of her life, but none of them spoke to her. None of them would look her in the eyes.

 

In an odd way, it was like being prepared for her wedding, Hermione thought bitterly. 

 

The women artfully wove flowers through Hermione’s mass of curls, and smoothed cosmetics on her face. 

 

She was ready. 

 

Eerily calm, she walked to the clearing that the men had prepared. Silent and pale, she knelt as the nervous priest gave her the last rites. Solemnly crossing herself, she stood and looked at the trembling priest, her dark eyes accusing.

 

Unable to bear her terrible gaze, the elderly man ran away, tears running down his face.

 

Two men grasped Hermione’s silk-encased arms and gently led her to the stake. Tenderly, as if she was a bride being given to her husband, the two men tied her to the piece of oak that was to be her grave.

 

“Wait!”

 

Hermione’s head rose sharply as she heard the familiar voice. “Ron?” her raspy voice croaked, “Ron, leave me! You must leave, it isn’t safe.”

 

“I don’t care!” Ronald Weasley fought the horde of men with his fists, angrily trying to reach Hermione. 

 

“Stop it, Ron!”

 

Never able to defy her, Ron stopped resisting the men, and hung from their arms, defeated. Betrayed blue eyes bored into her brown ones. “Why, Hermione? Why aren’t you fighting? I know you could get yourself out of this.”

 

“I have to do this. Otherwise my family will suffer, and I could not bear that.”

 

“Hermione,” Ron gulped, his voice swallowed by emotion, “Hermione, please.”

 

“I…I can’t, Ron. Please, please understand. ”

 

His bright head turned for a moment as he was overcome. In a low, dead voice he asked, “May I say farewell?” 

 

“All right, but no freeing the sacrifice, or we will kill her on the spot.”

 

Nodding slightly, the crowd parted as Ron strode to Hermione. His large, warm body enveloped her in an embrace. Hermione’s eyes closed in pain, and she quietly said, “Goodbye, my friend.”

 

“I’m sorry, Hermione.” Ron whispered in her ear, “So sorry.”

 

A solitary tear trickled down Hermione’s delicate cheek. Licking her dry lips, she whispered, “Me too.”

 

The other men dragged Ronald away from her as the first tendrils of sunset began to light the sky. His frantic blue eyes were upon her as he fought the others fiercely, taking blow after blow in his renewed efforts to get to her again. 

 

 _Go_ , she mouthed silently.

 

Unwillingly, he froze and stared at her. Then, with a heavy, broken heart he went.

 

So here she was, alone, tied to a stake in the middle of the fields, watching the sun slowly set on her last day.

 

She tried to think of anything, everything but her imminent death. Concentrating on the pain in her wrists, she tugged on the bindings fruitlessly, chafing her wrists until rivulets of blood ran down her fingers, dripping onto the golden wheat beneath her feet.

 

 _I might as well accept it_ , Hermione thought, _I really am going to die here._

 

As her sharp eyes scoured the sky for any trace of the Dragon, she thought of her life, and of her regrets. 

 

Hermione had never married, although she had many offers. Her family doted on her, and would not force her hand where many others would. She supposed that she had read too many tales of romance and love when she was a girl. They had spoiled her for the realities of marriage, and she found herself unable to accept any of her suitors. She had felt some fondness for Ronald Weasley, but it was more like the feelings she had for her brothers than what she had pictured for her husband. 

 

 _Lovely,_ Hermione thought wryly, _so this is where my romantic notions have led me. My father did always say that my high expectations of a husband would get me into trouble. He was right. If I had gotten a husband five years ago like the other girls I wouldn’t be in this mess._

 

Hermione sighed wearily and wished she could rub her burgeoning headache away. 

 

The twilight deepened as she waited anxiously, the sun lowering on the horizon her only clock.

 

 _Thump._

 

At the strange noise, Hermione’s head snapped up sharply from her intense contemplation of her feet.

 

_What was that?_

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

 

The noise slowly pulsed around her, steady as a heart beat. Hermione’s eyes desperately scanned the sky for anything, hoping against hope that the Dragon wouldn’t come tonight, that the strange noise meant nothing…

 

Hermione’s heart lurched as she glimpsed silver in the sky.

 

 _The Dragon!_

 

Stifling the urge to scream, Hermione stood tall and took a few deep, calming breaths, and spoke, her voice loud in the still air, “If I am going to die, I will die as a woman, not as a weak sniveling creature.”

 

Despite this brave statement, Hermione felt her gorge rise as she helplessly watched the creature fly closer and closer. She closed her eyes for a moment, and desperately swallowed her panicked cries. 

 

 _No one will know if you scream,_ a small voice said in the back of her mind.

 

_I will, as will God, and that is enough._

 

Her face stony and tense, she watched the Dragon circle the field, its sleek body spiraling tighter and tighter as it floated to the earth gracefully.

 

 _If I didn’t know that thing was a vicious monster,_ Hermione numbly thought, _I would say it was the most beautiful creature I have ever seen._

 

And it was beautiful. 

 

It was about as large as Granger Keep, but sleek and compact with dense muscles that rippled as it moved. Its skin gleamed like the finest silver, polished to a mirror shine. From the tip of its long tail, along its back, and up its elegant neck, the Dragon had spines of the rarest of the colorless gemstones. 

 

 _Diamonds,_ Hermione thought, _it is wreathed in diamonds._

 

Hermione’s eyes were magnetically drawn up, up, up the terrible body to the creature’s head. 

 

She looked into its eyes and awaited her fate.

 

The sheer _presence_ of those silver eyes slammed into her, catching her unawares. They were molten pools of quicksilver, the pupils slitted like a cat. Her knees buckled as an unseen force swept through her, piercing her soul as she felt the full strength of the creature’s power flow through her body. 

 

Hermione forced down the scream that bubbled up at this invasion of her mind, heart and soul. She bit her bottom lip harshly until it bled, and concentrated on the pain. Slowly, she regained control of her body, and as her senses returned to normal, she elevated her chin bravely. She stared at those strange eyes and prepared herself for death. 

 

_God have mercy._

 

Hermione smiled.

 

Those inhuman, intelligent eyes blinked slowly.

 

Then, in an almost human expression, the Dragon cocked its head to the side. 

 

Hermione felt a frenzied giggle bubbling up from her chest. She couldn’t help being morosely amused at how confused it looked.

 

 _Poor little Dragon,_ Hermione thought hysterically, _It probably has never been presented with a nicely gift-wrapped meal before._ Hermione thought perhaps she should remind it to have good manners and say thank you for the lovely parting gift. 

 

Her muffled laughter and crazed thoughts were abruptly cut short when the Dragon lunged for her in a graceful swoop. Hermione shrieked in abject terror.

 

The Dragon paused and turned at her scream, dropping its great head low and turning slightly to observe her with one of its silvery eyes. She silenced immediately, her heart thudding ferociously as a blast of heated air shot across her body when the Dragon’s nostril flared. She trembled and quivered at the sensation and the Dragon seemed pleased with her reaction, lifting a heavy clawed hand and shredding the post she was bound to without so much as bruising her fragile skin.

 

The Dragon picked her up within its razor sharp grip without pause and then huge, powerful wings were spread wide as the glorious beast launched into the night sky. Streaking away into the sunset, a silvery silhouette against the setting sun, glinting and glittering like the diamonds encrusted on its back.

 

Hermione looked out over the darkening landscape below her and then jerked her head up, her lungs frozen in fear, she was suddenly unable to catch her breath as the great beast opened its mouth wide and let out a feral cry into the wind. 

 

 _I’m going to die…_ was the last coherent thought Hermione had before she screamed out in pain from the intense, searing heat above her as a jet of fire shot out into the night sky- then blessed silence.


	2. The Dragon

**Disclaimer:** In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work of fiction is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.

000

 

Hermione awoke to darkness. She blinked her eyes, the gritty texture of her lids telling her that she must have been out of it for some time. She felt the wind whipping through her, chilling her through the soft silk of her gown. Squinting, she made out a large shape above her blocking out the weak light of the stars. 

 

Shrieking in terror, Hermione reflexively jerked away from the looming figure, her hands grasping for anything to anchor her to reality. They came into contact with a surprisingly warm, soft substance. 

 

_Flesh._

 

Shuddering, she wildly reached for escape. Hermione looked down, and her throat seized. There, in the faint light the world was spread out before her. The green rolling hills of England were miniscule from this vantage, the forests and rivers looked like a setting for children’s dolls. Her heart shrank from the terrifying sight, hot tears spilled from her eyes.

 

 _The dragon took me,_ Hermione’s mind whispered, reluctantly, sluggishly remembering the events of the day. She nervously gripped the surprisingly silky skin of the claw.

 

Hermione started to feel dizzy again. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on breathing, on the familiar feel of the wind on her skin, on the smooth flesh of the dragon. 

 

Her rational mind returning, she concentrated on the texture of the skin. Bookish brain whirling, she half-hysterically catalogued its characteristics. _Not at all reptilian, smooth, firm and hairless… oh, bother. Why do I care? I’m going to be dead in an hour and I am swooning over an overgrown lizard’s skin._

 

Hermione shivered and hoped that they got to wherever they were going soon, because if she was up here much longer, the suspense was going to kill her before the dragon did. 

 

So, Hermione did the only logical thing. She passed out. Again.

 

000 

 

Swathed in comfort, Hermione cuddled into the warm silk beneath her cheek and sighed heavily, clinging to sleep with a fuzzy desperation. Moaning slightly, she turned over onto her stomach, her dazed mind slowly registering her surroundings. Her naked skin relished the warm, downy comfort beneath her.

 

… Naked skin? She never slept naked. Why…

 

With a gasp, Hermione jerked awake, her body coming to alert as a spurt of adrenaline raced through her. She forced her eyes to focus on the dim shapes around her, illuminated only by a shallow fire pit a few feet away. Drawing the thick, decadent blanket firmly around her, Hermione instinctively curled herself into a small ball, looking frantically for any large shape that could be a dragon. 

 

She supposed she could run and hide… but where? She could hardly see beyond the small circle around the fire, and there was no sign of an exit. Hermione had the impression of immense space, but she couldn’t be sure. She groped experimentally on the ground and felt cold rock, with no dirt or grass to cover it. A cave?

 

_WHUMPWHUMPWHUMP_

 

Half-cocked ideas of escape flew from her mind, as in the deep black outside her little circle; the sound of huge wings beating filled the cavern.

 

Suddenly, there was a burst of flame, and a whurr of light flew about the cavern, lighting it up in quick, successive segments, until the entire area was ablaze with illumination.

 

The light reflected and bounced off enormous piles of glittering treasure, making the dragon’s sliver skin glow with a warm radiance. Almost as if he was a vain cat, he posed delicately, flicking his tail over the horde happily. 

 

_A dragon with a flair for the dramatic,_ Hermione thought hysterically as she frantically blinked to adjust to the bright light, _how odd._

 

She stared at it, clutching her blankets to her chest, her knuckles white, and body trembling. Like the mouse staring into the eyes of the cat, Hermione was mesmerized in the ancient dance of predator and prey.

 

The feline eyes assessed her, burning with fierce intelligence. 

 

Then, with a strangely amused toss of its head, the dragon reared up upon its hind feet and stretched translucent wings to their fullest extent. As Hermione watched, the dragon seemed to vibrate and glow in the firelight, with quicksilver currents running along its skin. A stream of smoke drifted out of its delicate snout, its eyes closed and she could swear it almost smiled. 

 

The smoke coalesced and boiled wildly, sparks arcing through the vast space of the cavern. 

 

Hermione’s tawny eyes went wide, and her breath stopped. 

 

He was about six and a half feet tall, a pagan demi-god come to life. His face was angular, harsh, like his dragon-form, but with a beautiful mobile mouth. He was colored like his dragon form, pale, with alabaster skin that took a gold cast in the firelight and hair as shiny as her mother’s pearl necklace. Unabashedly naked, his sterling cat-eyes watched Hermione avidly, studying her dishabille just as thoroughly as she studied him.

 

Hermione took him in slowly, staring at him in fascination, almost forgetting to be afraid. Her eyes took on a life of their own, and they drifted down the former dragon’s alabaster abdomen down to his lean hips down to… 

 

Hermione quickly jerked her eyes away. _It’s definitely a man,_ thought Hermione, mortified, _definitely._

 

Flushing a bright crimson, breath quickening, Hermione snuggled down into her mountain of pillows and blankets, trying to escape her embarrassment and fear. 

 

The dr… man… dragon-man-creature sauntered past the shocked Hermione with lethal elegance and shrugged into a black silk robe with platinum embroidered serpents running up and down its length. Completely unconscious of the impropriety of his actions, he lounged in front of the blazing fire on a plush day-bed, never glancing her way, his robe gaping open to show his thick pectorals.

 

Hermione watched intently as his mesmerizing silver eyes closed in pleasure as the heat bathed his lithe form, his pale hair taking a gold cast in the fire glow. 

 

The combination of the heady warmth of the cave and the aftermath of the most terrifying and shocking thing of her life left Hermione feeling drained. She battled her drooping lids, trying to keep her eyes fixed on the predator casually draped a few meters from her. 

 

As she drifted off, she opened her eyes one last time to find he gaze fixated on her. But Hermione was too tired and drained to care. _Let him devour me if he wants._

 

Too exhausted to fight her curiosity, Hermione murmured, her voice husky with sleep and screaming. “What will become of me?”

 

It might have been a dream, but she thought she heard a deep voice reply, “I’ll probably eat you in the morning.” 

 

000

 

Hermione woke for a second time in the strange cave. It was impossible to determine how long she had slept, but the cave no longer seemed as midnight-black as it had been before. _There must be some sort of light in here._

 

Hermione stretched tentatively under the covers, not surprised that her muscles felt like useless hunks of meat. Being tied to a pole for hours and then hanging onto a dragon for dear life were well outside the realm of her normal activities, Hermione thought wryly. With a pang, she realized that she would probably never see her home again, nor her family. Her life would never be normal again. 

 

Grimly shrugging off such depressing thoughts, Hermione groped along the mound of pillows, trying to get enough leverage to life herself out of the soft pile. As she groped, she felt… a warm spot? 

 

 _He slept here last night,_ Hermione thought, face beet-red and heart racing, _he slept a foot away from me when I was naked! Lord, it’s truly a miracle I survived… relatively unscathed, too._

 

Hermione lay back and took a few deep breaths. Then, in her usual no-nonsense manner, she opened her eyes and decided that she had done enough dithering for the time being and poked her head up to look around. 

 

She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and looked again.

 

She had never seen so much _stuff._

 

Ornate furniture, pillows, jewels of every size and color imaginable, tapestries, piles of books and scrolls. Tables were scattered about, groaning with the weight of goblets of all size and shape, huge platters, and large wooden chests were tossed open, filled with unimaginable amounts of jewels, precious stones and gold – pouring over the edges and overflowing onto the table’s surface, dripping to the ground below. 

 

Hermione’s mouth dropped open, the wealth here was beyond anything she’d ever dreamt possible.

 

She got up, legs wobbly and found a rich blue robe with crimson cuffs waiting for her. She put it on slowly, and eagerly looked forward to getting lost in the maze of treasure.

 

Well. At least she wouldn’t be bored.

 

000

 

If there was any sort of organization to the horde, Hermione wasn’t privy to it, but she traipsed on anyway, ignoring her urge to stop and admire a particularly beautiful object, looking for an exit.

 

Soon after she set out, she found a region of the cave that had a large hole in the ceiling. _Well, I suppose that answers the question about how dragons and dragon-men get out of this cave,_ Hermione thought, _Normal humans, not so much._ She only hoped that it wasn’t the only exit.

 

Hermione hadn’t resigned herself to death just yet.

 

Treasure taunting her from every angle, Hermione soon grew frustrated and hungry on her fruitless search for the exit. 

 

Growling softly to herself, she felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck, as if chilled, and with a sudden awareness, she knew.

 

_He’s watching me._

 

She paused, pretending to admire a set of porcelain figurines of fantastic creatures. She picked up a unicorn with one hand, at once marveling at the gossamer lightness of the china and trying to remember how to get back to the hearth.

 

She was lost.

 

She put the statuette down lightly, so as not to crush its fairy-delicacy in her panic. 

 

_How do I get back? I could wander around for days and not find my way._

 

She must have been gone longer than she thought, because she couldn’t even see the hole of sunlight. Actually, Hermione could barely see beyond the faint ring of light her torch was making. 

 

She took a deep steadying breath, squared her shoulders, and started picking her way through the cache.

 

She had been walking for about twenty minutes, when she stopped and peered at a suit of armor carefully. _Haven’t I seen that before? Damn. I’m going in circles._

 

She sat down on a nearby bench, heart heavy, not noticing or caring about the lushness of the fabric or the comfort of the cushions. 

 

He materialized then, as if he was made from ether. 

 

He held out his hand, large body looming and covered in shadows, and said, “Come.”

 

Hermione hesitated for a moment, but then placed her small hand in his. For a moment, it felt like a jolt of fire hit her arm, and then a flush started at her face and slowly worker her way down her body. She stood quickly and jerked the limb away.

 

The dragon turned and started walking.

 

Hermione, left with no choice, followed. 

 

They had been walking for some time before he said, “There’s no way out unless I take you out.”

 

Hermione swallowed, tears rising in her eyes, and the dragon looked at her sharply.

 

He looked far away for a moment, then said, “As long as you are here, you may explore my horde as much as you like. Just don’t move anything.” 

 

Hermione was speechless for a moment, tears drying up, and thought she should speak. “You… you honor me, my lord. Thank you.”

 

The dragon’s eyes widened at the reply, and glittered in the faint light. He turned around suddenly, and started walking again.

 

They spent the rest of the journey to the hearth in uncomfortable silence.

 

000

 

Most days, the silver dragon, as Hermione had taken to calling him, was absent when Hermione awoke, doing who-knows-what on the surface. Hermione would leisurely get up, bathe in the decadent hot springs she found, and prepare breakfast from the array of food the dragon left on a table close to the fire. 

 

She started cooking for herself at home because she often had insomnia in the middle of the night and would like to fix herself something to eat. She didn’t consider herself extremely proficient, but she was extremely happy that she had insisted, despite her Mother’s mortification at her daughter learning such a common skill. Certainly the dragon couldn’t cook. 

 

She absolutely loved exploring the dragon’s treasure while trying to find an exit. After the first day she was careful to keep her bearings while searching. Hermione didn’t want the dragon to have to come and find her again. It might give him the excuse to eat her.

 

Besides the usual piles of gold and chests of jewels, there were strange, fascinating objects everywhere- odd deadly weapons with huge, ferociously sharp blades, a gleaming basalt skull, a huge boulder of jade carved into a mountain, maps to the far reaches of lands Hermione had never heard of, and scores of odd, mechanical creations that fascinated as they whirred and spun in elegant choreographed movements.

 

Hermione had avidly read about mythical treasure-troves in her father’s few books and had heard many tales. Why, a few years ago, a traveling Moor had told her family a story of a mythical cave of wonders somewhere in the Arabian wilderness.

 

Surely, it must have looked like this. She could spend a lifetime in this fairy-land and never grow bored.

 

Her life before the dragon took her was both usual and unusual for a woman. She loved her life and her family, but she wanted more, always more. She felt like a bad person, a bad daughter. She already had so much more than most people, how could she be discontent? 

 

But still, her spirit was restless. 

 

She wanted a husband and children, truly, but why was it too much to expect that she should have some feelings for said husband?

 

She was lucky that her father loved her so. Most women her age already had a few babies and were managing households. She didn’t resent the fact that they had families of their own and were settled. She wanted more than that. She had never been sure what that ‘more’ meant exactly, but she always knew that a deep wellspring of restlessness lay within her, telling her to wait whenever she had been about to accept some boy’s proposal. 

 

Well.

 

Look how well that turned out.

 

000

 

Her routine was only punctuated by the occasional startling infiltration of random objects. 

 

It started with a silver hairbrush inlaid with ivory that appeared at her bedside one day. Delighted, she took it to the springs, washed and brushed her hair thoroughly, and smiled for the rest of the day. 

 

Then, there was a deluge of little things- a matching hand-mirror, a huge embroidery basket, books tucked under her pillows, a blue fur so plush her hand sank into it, and bolts of cloth of every color she could ever think of, woven so fine they felt like butterfly-wings. 

 

After awhile, the objects got more elaborate. Persian carpets to line the living-space, so soft she felt like she was walking on clouds. Chalices made of what looked like unicorn horns and pewter. A jewelry box made out of rock-crystal, bound with platinum and gemstones. 

 

Finally, she was presented with a bed. Not just any bed, but it looked like the bed from a fairy-tale, so big that six men as large as the dragon would fit across it easily. Made of a lustrous wood she couldn’t identify, it was carved with sensual scenes that made her face flame and her belly ache. The mattress was stuffed with something softer than goose-down, and sleeping on it felt like being embraced by a dream.

 

She could only suspect the dragon because he was the only other creature there, but it seemed so incredible that she could not believe it. 

 

The place must be haunted. It was the most logical assumption.

 

000

 

One day, Hermione was cooking a simple beef stew, one of her favorites, from the supplies the dragon had brought her.

 

Turning around to slice up the bread that went with the meal, she was shocked to see the dragon lazily watching her a few feet away. Startled, Hermione dropped her knife.

 

Silently, the dragon walked to her, bent and picked up the knife by her feet and placed it on the table with the food. Straightening to his impressive height, he looked at her, looking almost… lost. As if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words to say it.

 

“W-would you like some?” Hermione found her self saying.

 

To her surprise the dragon nodded. Hermione ladled a generous portion into a pewter trencher with hands that barely trembled, and handed it to him. She was surprised when he dug in eagerly.

 

His eyes lit up, childlike in their delight at the taste. 

 

Hermione stood numbly, her pulse doing double time, her face flushing.

 

Grinning, he sat on his couch and elegantly gorged himself on the rest of what Hermione had planned to be her evening and afternoon meals for the next few days. Fascinated, she watched him pack away an obscene amount of food faster than she had ever seen anyone eat before. 

 

After he demolished the meal, he licked his fingers delicately as Hermione watched, his ruby tongue darting around to catch every drop of juice. She felt a strange heaviness in her belly, and she pressed her thighs together uncomfortably, trying to make the bizarre feeling go away.

 

“Can you make more?” he asked eagerly. 

 

“Of course,” Hermione replied swiftly, trying not to look at his stunning smile, “but you’ll have to bring me more supplies if you want to eat with me.”

 

The dragon nodded contentedly, and curled up on his couch. “Tell me a story,” he demanded imperiously, “One about an adventure.”

 

Hermione, a bit startled, nevertheless complied with relief. _Thank goodness he doesn’t smile like that more often. I might start to forget that he isn’t human._

 

So the strange routine began.

 

She cooked for him, mended his clothes, told him stories, and tidied up the living space.

 

It was almost like she was his wife.

 

Nah.

 

Anyway, Hermione figured if she made herself useful, he would be more complacent, and wouldn’t eat her.

 

She wasn’t sure where he put all of that food every day, but then, she wasn’t sure of what he was either. She was alive, she was fed, she had a treasure trove of delights to explore… and the dragon, well, he pretty much ignored her. Which was a good thing, but deuced that she could figure out _why._

 

It might not have unnerved her so much, but for one thing.

 

She would always fall asleep alone, but wake up with a warm spot where he had been.

 

000

 

“What are you called, woman?”

 

Hermione was startled by this intrusion into their daily routine. She was cooking their evening meal over the hearth in the deepening twilight, wondering idly if she should pay a visit to the hot springs or just fall asleep.

 

Usually the dragon would usually just stare at her insolently or ignore her as she did her evening chores, he typically never spoke. So she was caught completely off guard by the deep, soothing voice. 

 

“Erhm,” Hermione quickly jerked around to find him less than a foot away. He was dressed haphazardly, as always, this time in a forest green silk robe with delicate gold filigree tracing intricate Celtic patterns up and down his body. The ivory skin of his chest peeked out between the folds of the robe, making Hermione flush. 

 

His cat-like eyes peered into hers. She licked her lips nervously, and his eyes darted to her pink tongue. They flashed a hot steel-grey, and seemed to smolder furiously. He leaned closer, and his lips parted, sharp teeth gleamed…

 

“Hermione.”

 

The dragon blinked, taken aback.

 

“Hermione,” she repeated, “That’s my name.”

 

“Hermione,” the dragon repeated in his deep voice, drawing out the syllables with relish.

 

“Yes,” she repeated, still bothered by his large body so close to hers. He towered over her, making her feel small, delicate and helpless.

 

Not a good feeling when he hadn’t eaten yet.

 

She stepped away, turning her back to him- ostensibly to get the bread, but secretly trying to escape his disconcerting presence. 

 

She heard a noise behind her, and tensed as tightly as a wound coil, her body stiff with adrenalin. Then she heard the soft rustle of cloth and the squeak of his couch, and the tension drained away from her in a rush, leaving her feeling strangely elated.

 

She turned with a bright smile to find his enigmatic gaze on her again. 

 

“So,” she said brightly, “Have I ever told you the story about Sir Gawain and the Green Knight? Well, Sir Gawain was a knight in King Arthur’s court and one day…” 

 

The dragon stretched, his muscles bunching and relaxing in turn as he settled in to the sound to Hermione’s soft voice, his low growl of pleasure made her shiver. 

 

000

 

Hermione began to feel more and more comfortable with the uncommunicative creature. He didn’t talk back much, only when directly addressed, and sometimes not even then. So she played Scheherazade to the beast and told him stories. She told him tales about her life, silly fairy stories she heard as a child, legends of the ancients and stories of high adventure. She had always had a talent with words, so she didn’t mind. She thought he enjoyed it, sitting by the fire, soaking up its heat lazily, listening to a story before bed. 

 

But it was hard to tell. Those half-lidded eyes could just as easily be thinking about how good she would taste.

 

He showed a keen intelligence when Hermione was able to drag him into a discussion, so she kept trying. He sometimes seemed like he wanted to speak, but something was holding him back. 

 

Every so often, Hermione would forget his nature and chatter to him like he was her friend. But then she would turn and his eerie, beautiful, unblinking eyes would be fixed on her, watching her, waiting for… something.

 

Imagining what frightened the daylights out of her.

 

 _Sometimes,_ Hermione thought irritably, _I wish he would just hurry up and eat me._

 

000

 

_Flames rushed over the barren land, spreading quickly through the parched grasses of the fields._

_Hermione wandered through her father’s lands, terrified. Where was everyone?_

_She sprinted towards the manor, and then stopped, her feet rooted to the ground in shock._

_A dragon, his mouth rimmed with dark blood, was destroying her home._

_A silver dragon._

_Her dragon._

_“Stop it!”_

_The dragon looked at her, then._

_Empty eyes._

_Inhuman._

_Hermione fell to her knees, sobbing, paralyzed as the dragon turned away, uncaring, as it demonically tore into the house, ripping her home, her life, to shreds…_

_“Stop!” Hermione screamed until her throat was raw, wailing as her heart was breaking._

_STOP!!!!_

 

Hermione came to awareness slowly, and even then she wasn’t positively sure she wasn’t still dreaming. But this dream was much, much less terrifying. 

 

In this dream, she wasn’t alone- there was someone holding her, softly whispering that it was only a dream, and that night fears pass. 

 

“Stop this, hush.”

 

Murmuring quiet nonsense into her curls, the dragon ran soothing hands up and down her naked skin. Hermione clung to him, still dazed, turning her sweat-chilled body into his, and sighed at the masculine heat radiating off of his smooth skin. 

 

Comforted immeasurably, Hermione once again fell into slumber, lulled into the land of dreams by the gentle hands of her captor.

 

000

 

Life went on as usual, and if Hermione stared at the dragon a little too long when she gave him his meal, or tried to stay awake as long as possible to feel him slip into bed next to her, it seemed to be of no consequence to the creature. 

 

So when Hermione woke about two weeks later with no sign of her fearsome companion, she wasn’t surprised. 

 

Shrugging, she slipped on the fresh purple brocade robe that was waiting for her and poured a cup of water from the crystal pitcher by the side of her bed. While sipping daintily, she gathered her things for a trip to the hot springs. 

 

 _Last time I was there, there was the most wonderful smelling lilac soap,_ Hermione thought idly as she picked her way slowly around the huge piles of extraordinary objects, _I wonder if there are invisible servants here, like in the fairy stories? Oh! Is that an Egyptian sarcophagus? I’ll have to remember where that is and investigate later. Living in a treasure-trove is marvelously fun!_

 

Halfway there, she basked in the sun-spot momentarily, enjoying the warmth on her body. 

 

Hearing the distinct beating of wings, Hermione turned her face to the opening, her eyes straining to see the unmistakable wink of silver in the sunlight. 

 

“Best go start breakfast,” Hermione sighed, “Bathing can wait until the beast has had his belly filled.” Her lips quirked, “Not that he cares how I look anyway.” 

 

She stood a moment more, until her eyes caught the graceful loops and swirls of dragon-flight. She started for the fire-pit, but something strange caught her eye.

 

Stopping, her instincts screaming, Hermione squinted at the bright blue sky. Something was off about the dragon, something…

 

“Black!” Hermione gasped, “The dragon is black!”

 

Horrified, Hermione frantically searched for a place to hide in the piles of treasure. Spotting the sarcophagus she was admiring earlier, she sprinted for it, hoping it was open and that there wasn’t a mummy in it.

 

 _Not that I have many options,_ Hermione thought grimly, _I suppose I’d rather cozy up to a dead person than die myself._

 

Luckily, the golden lid to the sarcophagus was angled just enough that a small human could fit into the hole it created if they didn’t like breathing. With no hesitation at the creepy things that could be inside, Hermione wiggled in, her robe catching and tearing on the lapis inlay on the way in. 

 

Her hips snagged, and she desperately scrabbled for some leverage to push herself in. Gripping the pharaoh’s snake-crown, she pushed down hard, and wiggled her legs frantically.

 

With a pop!, her arse landed hard in the coffin, sending a sharp pain up her back and down her legs. Gritting her teeth, she quickly slid in the rest of the way, and made sure she wasn’t visible to the outside. 

 

 _Well. No mummy. That’s a plus. Although it might have cushioned my landing a bit. But there was something rotting in here._ Hermione gagged. _Recently_. 

 

Anxiously, she heard the loud sounds of giant wings flapping in the cave, and felt the reverberations in her skull as the black dragon landed with a graceful _THUNK._

 

_He must be transforming. Maybe when he sees that the silver dragon isn’t here, he’ll leave._

 

“I can smell you little human!” 

 

Great.

 

She should have taken that bath after all.

 

She tried to calm her breathing, and make herself a small as possible, but the fear coursing through her system was making her hyperventilate. She knew that she wasn’t making a lot of noise, but her inhalations sounded as loud as trumpets in the still, tense air.

 

She heard him move around the room, muttering quietly to himself, and as he came to her, she had the breathless, insane hope that he wouldn’t find her…

 

“Ah-ha!” 

 

The cover of the coffin was unceremoniously ripped off, as if it weighed less than one of Hermione’s pillows. 

 

Hermione caught her breath.

 

He was _gorgeous._

 

He had a perfectly sculpted face, high cheekbones, a strong jaw, a straight thin nose. His body was perfectly proportioned. The silver dragon was taller and more powerfully built, but this dragon had corded, lean muscle mass and they flexed in a mesmerizing dance under his polished ebony skin with every graceful movement. 

 

And his _eyes._ His eyes were a molten gold, slanted exotically at the corners, with straight black brows slashing upwards on his face, making him look frighteningly fey. 

 

 _A painting come to life,_ Hermione mused, fascinated. But he was almost too good looking, if there was such a thing. Hermione preferred the sharp, feral masculinity of her dragon, if only because he looked more like a man should, and less like the otherworldly creature he was. 

 

She knew she must look a fright; her hair tangled and mussed, her color high and her robes disheveled and torn. Then again, these dragons didn’t seem to think much of modesty, so she might fit right in. 

 

“Well, well. I see Draco has outdone himself, as usual.” The dragon grinned and offered his hand to pull her out of the casket. 

 

When she was standing, his onyx eyes scrutinized her boldly, running over her from head to toe. Hermione flushed and looked at her feet.

 

“I had heard he had taken a Maiden, but Ginevra didn’t believe me.” He smiled gaily, “Wait until she hears about this!” 

 

Seemingly satisfied with his assessment of her, the black dragon looked around jealously. “I always did love this horde. Do you think he’ll notice if I nab that beautiful little trinket over there? I do so love amber and emeralds, and it would match Ginevra’s eyes.” 

 

Hermione, taken aback, peered at the ‘trinket’ in disbelief. It was a monstrous necklace that would cover a woman’s neck and chest, inlaid with row upon row of highly polished emeralds and bright amber. She said the first think that came to mind. “I think so. He always knows where everything is. Quite obsessive about it, really.” 

 

“Pity.” He sighed dramatically and gestured to a group of mismatched furniture. “My name is Blaise. Sit and have a chat?”

 

“So,” the dark dragon purred as he sat on a plump ottoman, “Draco has taken a beautiful maiden. About time. But he always was a picky one about his treasures.” 

 

“Draco?” Hermione said curiously as she sat on a gigantic Sultan’s throne. 

 

“Uh, the dragon you’ve been living with for what smells like months?”

 

“Oh.” Hermione was stunned that her dragon had a name. She shouldn’t be, she supposed, but he had always seemed like such a wild creature, not civilized enough to be raised by parents who would name him. 

 

“Do you know nothing about him?” Blaise asked his head cocked slightly.

 

Hermione shook her head, “He doesn’t speak much.”

 

He threw back his head and laughed uninhibitedly, startling Hermione. 

 

After another few low chuckles, he finally seemed to get himself under control. “No, my dear maiden, he’s not known for speaking much. Growling, perhaps, but not speaking.”

 

Hermione sensed an opportunity in this strange creature. Here was a person who actually knew the man she lived with. As Hermione was essentially a practical girl at heart, she seized her courage and asked the question that was welling in her soul. 

 

“Could you tell me more about him?”

 

Blaise looked at her for a moment before replying. “Well, Draco’s mum died when he was quite young, and his father mourned her for a long time, and still is, as far as I know. They spent most of their time in Dragon-Form while Draco was growing up. I’m not surprised that he hardly knows how to interact with a human.” 

 

“Didn’t he interact with the other, uh, dragons?”

 

“Yes, but you see Draco is special in our world. There aren’t many silver dragons left, and until he was old enough to defend himself, he was kept in a safe haven to hide him.”

 

“Hide him?”

 

“From the slayers.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Hermione had heard about Dragon Slayers, of course. Who hadn’t heard of Harold Potter and his heroism against the Green Menace of York? Or how he saved the village of Stratford-Upon-Avon single-handedly from the Blue Destroyer? There was talk about getting him to come and save her village, but she supposed that he was too famous to come to her lonely corner of England. 

 

How very different her life would have been if he had…

 

“… but by then the damage had already been done. He was completely without social skills and more dragon than human most of the time.”

 

“Erhm,” Hermione said, a bit hesitantly, “I don’t meant sound rude, but I was wondering… what exactly _are_ you? Are you magical?”

 

The dark dragon smiled, “It’s alright my dear, and it’s only natural to…”

 

Suddenly, his smile fell away. He stiffened, looked at the sky, and grimaced.

 

“Shit.”

 

The great silver dragon dove into the cave, landing hard. His mouth spewed great blue flames, and his eyes were feral.

 

Hermione had thought he looked angry the day he had captured her, but she was wrong. Compared to this, he looked like he had been having the most joyful of frolics that day. 

 

He turned his head and saw Blaise, and exploded in rage. 

 

Hermione grimaced and covered her ears at his shrieks, but she moved fast, acting almost without thought.

 

“Draco!” She screamed loudly, trying to get his attention before there was a full-fledged dragon fight on her doorstep.

 

He hissed in warning, the diamond wreath around his head puffed out menacingly as he stared at Blaise sitting indolently amongst his treasures.

 

“He didn’t mean any harm,” Hermione said soothingly, “He was curious. But he should have asked your permission. He was wrong and will apologize.” 

 

Draco reared back slightly, and looked at her for a long while. Finally he gave a short nod.

 

Blaise sat there, watching in fascination.

 

“Show him!” she hissed.

 

Blaise shot her a look, eyes wide with wonder before he knelt on the ground with his neck exposed.

 

“I am sorry to intrude on your domain. It will not happen again.”

 

Eyes still narrow, the silver dragon stared at Blaise for a long, tense moment. Finally, he sniffed in disgust, and twisted his head away. The silver smoke Hermione had come to recognize as a forerunner of his transformation poured out of his nostrils. 

 

She ran and grabbed one of his favorite robes hanging carelessly on an ornate silver rack, and gave it to him hurriedly as he transformed. Knowing him, he would forget all about it and start yelling at Blaise naked. 

 

Shrugging it on distractedly, the silver dragon kept his narrow focus on the intruder.

 

“Get out.”

 

“Draco, aren’t you going to introduce me to your maiden?”

 

“No.”

 

“Surely we’ve been friends long enough to deserve an introduction.”

 

“No.”

 

Blaise pouted, a strange expression on such a beautiful creature, “But Ginevra will be so disappointed.”

 

“She’ll live.”

 

“But…”

 

“Just leave!” 

 

“All right,” Blaise rolled his eyes and then smiled wickedly, “I’ll come back when there isn’t so much sexual tension.”

 

Hermione’s eyes widened and Blaise laughed as dark smoke curled around him.

 

“Ciao!”

 

000

 

Draco watched Blaise leave, eyes intent. When he was out of range of whatever sense he used to monitor him, he imperceptibly relaxed. 

 

Hermione stood next to him uncomfortably, not sure of what to say. She hoped he didn’t blame her for this whole debacle. She straightened her spine, ready to defend her actions. 

 

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes and smirked slightly. 

 

“Breakfast?”

 

Hermione breathed a small sigh of relief and replied, “I was just about to start.”

 

As Hermione bustled around the hearth, her logical mind whirling about this morning’s events. She knew that what Blaise said was important, but knew that she needed some deep thought to figure out what it meant.

 

She glanced up to see the dragon lying in the sunbeam, smiling slightly.

 

 _Draco,_ she thought, _His name is Draco._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, written circa 2006. As always thanks to my beta Lorett for wading through my many errors. Also, I wanted to thank the folks on LJ for giving my creativity a kick in the butt while writing this chapter. Many of the beautiful treasures used here were inspired by their ideas. Thanks especially to dmacabre, wildkitty27, and deemichelle for their help.


	3. The Maiden

Hermione stood still, head slightly cocked as she stared in wonder at the statue. It was carved from white marble in the form of a beautiful, idealized man. His perfect face was thrown up to the heavens, his snow-white body radiating energy, practically alive. 

 

Hermione’s lips parted in wonder, and her hand reached out to touch it, almost as if she was making sure he wasn’t real. Shaking herself slightly, a small smile hovering on her lips, she moved on to gape at the other statues in the collection.

 

Draco’s sterling eyes watched her as she enjoyed his haven, drinking up her pleasure in his home. She had been here for months now, but he never tired of seeing her among his treasures. 

 

His hand tightened into a fist as he stifled the urge to go to her and lead her through his cache and show her his favorite objects. 

 

She wasn’t ready. 

 

He wasn’t at all subtle. Draco was used to instant gratification. But this… this was too important to mess up with heavy-handed wooing. He coveted her, all of her. But he would only get her if he were patient.

 

Too bad it went against every instinct he possessed.

 

The man inside him warned that it was best to go slow, but the beast wanted nothing more than to snatch her away to their bed and keep her there for days. He had thought about it, multiple times, especially during the nights when he could smell her, feel her drowsy warmth so very close. 

 

It was because he coveted her that he did not act on these instincts, of course. He had seen the victims of rape when he wandered through villages that had been sacked by neighboring human armies. They were once women, he was sure, but all that had been left behind were small, pitiful, broken creatures. 

 

Draco’s mouth twisted sardonically as he watched Hermione’s curls bounce as she strained to reach a book on a high shelf. _And the humans say I am the beast. Just like the stupid humans to ruin their females._ He felt a fission of warmth in the vicinity of his heart at he little whoop of triumph, as she dislodged the object. _I would not want my treasure broken._

 

It constantly surprised him that he should desire her so and he was often filled with a helpless wonder as he thought of how easily it would have been to overlook this diamond buried in the mud. 

 

He had only haunted that part of the country because he had heard the Lord had a unique treasure in his possession – a set of statuettes made from the polished ivory of unicorn’s horns. The collection wasn’t rumored to be particularly valuable, but it was interesting, and no one else had anything like it.

 

Draco wanted it.

 

It was a common practice for Dragons to terrorize the little humans, in the hopes of being offered something of value in recompense. If a Dragon accepted the prize, he was honor-bound to stop haunting that area.

 

Some Dragons at the gatherings held every year tried to discourage the young males from this practice and he supposed that he understood. Danger to the race, and all that. However, he found that most of the time he just couldn’t help himself. It was lonely in his cave sometimes, and the loot he was offered in recompense was too great for his greed to resist. 

 

Besides, it was rather fun. 

 

He had been offered maidens before, but none of them had called to his instincts as this one had, so he had left them screaming on their stakes and continued to raze the earth until better bribes were offered. 

 

This girl was different, somehow.

 

His heightened senses had seen her from the air just as he had been about to go through his usual flight pattern over the town. Curious, he descended to see what the villagers thought would appease him. 

 

His finely honed senses noticed her hair first. It was a fascinating mix of untamed, shiny russet curls. His keen eyesight could pick up bright highlights of cherry red and honey, made more evident from the blood red roses and white lilies woven into the curls. The rest of her was all softness; skin as smooth as cream, pink trembling lips, high cheekbones in a sweetly curved face.

 

But what arrested him the most were her eyes. Brave amber eyes with ochre flecks. She was afraid, he could smell the fear-scent mixing in her musk, but she was facing what she thought was certain death with an intriguing nobility. He was surprisingly appreciative.

 

She fascinated him, but he still couldn’t decide what to do with her. Should he leave her tied to the wooden post, or should he take her to be his mate? She seemed strong enough to bear his sons, but he wasn’t sure if this lust for her beauty was the overwhelming ‘mating instinct’ his father told him would overcome him when he found the right maiden.

 

While he was deciding, she did something unprecedented.

 

She smiled at him.

 

His instinct screamed at him to take her then, to take her _immediately_ , so he did. Fortunately, his instincts seemed to be spot on. The more he saw of her, the more he coveted her attention, her smiles, her stories, her love. 

 

 

He needed to possess her, body and soul. The mating instincts were rearing their ugly head, and it was all he could do to hold back the raging beast inside him. When she smiled at him or when she touched him innocently, he felt the thin, taut cords binding his control ready to snap. 

 

Draco had heard, of course, that when the right maiden was captured, he would feel her like a fever in his blood, a disease that could not be purged until he was sated deep within her body. He had never really believed, until now. Even after seeing his father mourn the death of his mother for so long, he had never truly believed.

 

 _Dragons mate for life_ , Draco’s mind whispered. As he watched, Hermione settled onto the couch by the fire to read. _She’s so beautiful_ …

 

Draco smiled slightly as he watched her read and toy with her curls, a blossom of contentment blooming inside him. After seeing that she was comfortable, he started to walk towards the north section of his cache to inspect the condition of the walls. They had been crumbling last year after the heavy rains, and he wanted to shore them up before the winter months. 

 

He had never really been around a female for a long period of time before. He barely remembered his mother, and was too young to really appreciate how graceful and lovely the creatures really were. 

 

He liked choosing gifts that would please her. And she was pleased, he could see that. She took obvious pleasure in his gifts, but made no further move in the courtship dance. Yet she continued with her daily routine, unmoved by these expressions of his intentions. She blithely winnowed her way through his horde, through his life, without acknowledging his interest, favorably or unfavorably. 

 

It was getting damn frustrating.

 

Growling softly to himself, Draco brooded as he absently catalogued his treasure as he walked. Strange that he didn’t mind her wandering through his horde, his usual dangerous jealousy was absent. She belonged there, amongst his treasures. The perfect jewel to complete his collection.

 

He had heard her humming softly to herself a few times. Perhaps she liked music? She would love the mahogany harp, then. He would give it to her tomorrow. 

 

Draco huffed an annoyed breath that smelled vaguely of brimstone. He wasn’t sure what her problem was. She already acted like a mate. She made him food, she kept the hearth, made sure he was properly clothed (he did forget, sometimes), and she shared his bed. 

 

She accepted his gifts. His instincts sensed that she was softening towards him. So why was she so unwilling to mate?

 

She stiffened when he came into her presence, her senses sharpening as if she were prey. Well, in a way she was, he supposed, but he planned to devour her much, much more thoroughly than his usual quarry. 

 

Hermione wasn’t terrified, but she wasn’t receptive to him either. He knew from his father that the maiden needed to make the first move when it came to mating, else she would be too horrified to complete it, because of his dominant Dragon nature. His female was as beautiful as a trembling doe, and just as easily startled. 

 

So he studied her, as he would any other coveted object out of his reach. What did she want? 

 

The stories gave him a clue.

 

He listened avidly every night, delighting in how her anxiety lessened as she spoke. She would usually start sometime after the evening meal, and then spin tales of magic, of romance, of heroic men and their beautiful women. Elaborate fantasies of love, honor and passion. 

 

He ached for the time when she would see him like that, when she would finally accept him into her heart and body, so he could curl around her soul and never let her go. 

 

So he did what he did best.

 

He made a plan.

 

000

 

Draco lounged indolently on his couch, fingers idly tracing the carved wooden frame, for once not staring at Hermione as she efficiently made their evening meal. 

 

He was reading a book.

 

Not just any book, he reminded himself, _the_ book. 

 

The book that would make Hermione his forever. In theory, anyway. 

 

The Indian book fascinated him. Translated by one of his forefathers, it had apparently been handed down from father to son for centuries. 

 

He cringed as he remembered the mortifying conversation that preceded the gift.

 

_“You haven’t claimed your maiden yet?” The elegant, solidly built Dragon chortled, bursts of flame spurting out of his nostrils in amusement._

_Draco grimaced slightly; grateful he was in Dragon form so his father couldn’t detect the flush of mortification he was sure he would have had if he was human._

_“I’ll take that as a negative, then.”_

_His father shifted then, becoming a tall, handsome gentleman that looked eerily like an older version of his son. Unabashedly naked, he disappeared behind a haphazard pile of Spanish doubloons, an elegant crystal swan, and a giant platinum bowl, and returned a few minutes later carrying an ancient book._

_“Here you are, son. Apparently, you need all of the help you can get, if the desperate smell of you is any indication.”_

 

Hermione set some food in front of him, and he ate slowly, still reading, completely absorbed by the sensual nature of the book. 

 

 _The congress of the Wife of Indra_ , Draco read, _is suitable only for the highest congress._ Draco stopped, puzzled. _What does that mean?_ He looked at the picture carefully, searching for clues. The figures were bent in such as way that he was sure would break his tiny human if he tried it, which certainly would not help in his seduction. He had already learned a great deal about females from the book, the nature of which both shocked and aroused him. He could feel the Dragon shredding his already tenuous control with every page, his newly awakened carnality growing with every fantasy. 

 

Furrowing his brows, Draco turned the page. 

 

_She was bound to the pole, like she was when he first saw her. Clad in virginal white, the gown clung to her generous curves as she struggled against her bonds._

_He watched her avidly from the air, seeing her writhe on the stake, his desire growing stronger as he watched her bite her full bottom lip in frustration, drawing blood. She was flushed with exertion, panting and moaning as she worked at her bonds._

_The Dragon smiled in anticipation._

_He landed, noting the increase in her struggles. The man inside was happy that she was bound, so that his prey could not escape, but the beast was disappointed that it would not be able to hunt tonight._

_Another time, perhaps._

_He transformed, and watched her luminous amber eyes widen in shock. Stalking forward, his body painfully and proudly aroused, he leaned close to her small frame, dragging the musky scent of her arousal into his lungs. Growling fiercely, he shoved a hand into her curls and raised her lips to his._

_Groaning, he explored the soft contours of her mouth, delighting as her body softened against his. Boldly, he traced the seam of her mouth with his tongue and when her lips parted in pleasure, he plundered her mouth. Lightheaded from the kiss, his hands roamed her curves desperately, itching to feel her soft skin._

_Ripping the offending fabric from her body, he noted with satisfaction that her lush body was flushed with arousal, and her dilated eyes watched his movements avidly._

_Cupping her full breasts gently, he delicately traced their contours, running his hands over their softness, teasingly grazing her aching peaks. He felt his woman start to squirm, and he smiled wickedly. He suddenly pinched her nipples and she let out a hoarse scream of pleasure. The sound went straight to his core, and his cock twitched eagerly._

_His hand roamed down her flat belly to her damp, springy curls. She gasped softly as he probed her sensitive spots, and wriggled uncomfortably. Growling, he lightly nipped the side of her neck and she stilled. Sliding one large finger into her, he mimicked the act of copulation, feeding greedily on her gasps of pleasure._

_When he could stand her desperate whimpers no longer, he lifted her higher on the stake and positioned himself at her dripping entrance. As he lowered her, inch-by-inch, onto his cock, he was gripped by an inferno of pleasure. When he was buried to the balls, he wrapped her legs around his waist and began a driving rhythm._

_The world narrowed to just their joined bodies as they rode on and on and on, muscles straining, until they were almost…_

 

“What are you reading?”

 

Startled, Draco looked up into curious amber eyes. Swallowing nervously, he slammed the book shut. Tongue-tied, he said the first thing that came to mind, “A book from a far away land.” 

 

“Oh. Would you read it aloud to me?”

 

Draco, to his mortification, felt his face flame. He shifted on the couch, hiding his erection. Grimacing slightly, he said, “It would take too long to translate it.”

 

He held his breath, hoping she would accept his paltry excuse.

 

Hermione, luckily, did not seem to notice.

 

“Would you mind reading something else, then? I am very tired tonight.” She chuckled slightly, and stretched languorously, unconsciously showing off her high breasts, “Had entirely too much pleasure playing in your treasure today.”

 

Draco’s heart clenched in feral anticipation- she had asked something of him! Surely that was progress.

 

“I will. What would my lady prefer?”

 

“Mmmm,” Hermione’s pink lips curled enticingly, “Do you have any Greek Mythology? I love the tales about the pagan gods and goddesses, even if they are wicked.” 

 

Draco inclined his head slightly, rose quickly, hiding the telltale evidence of his desire from her, and headed for his makeshift library, taking his precious book with him.

 

He would have to thank his father the next time he saw him.

 

000

 

Draco gained confidence over the next few days. 

 

Hermione was growing more and more comfortable in his presence. He would deliberately brush against her as he walked past, or casually touch her hand as they ate, or tug her curls playfully when she teased him about something. She had been jumpy and easily startled at first, but now she seemed used to his touch and anticipated it. Although he was aching for the time when she would initiate contact, he felt that it would come with a little more time.

 

Draco was pleased with his progress.

 

He still found it uncomfortable to speak very much in his human form, but around her he had grown used to being caged in his weak human flesh, and it no longer felt quite as unnatural. 

 

Later that afternoon, Hermione was reading him a story about a very silly boy who traded his cow for beans. He didn’t quite understand the point. Was he supposed to like the stupid human who gave up good meat? The giant was a much more sympathetic character in his mind. The moronic boy was trespassing after all. He mentioned this to Hermione and she laughed. Draco leaned back into the soft pillows, content. 

 

Still giggling, she reached out and smoothed a pale lock from his forehead, letting her fingers linger on the smooth planes of his cheek. 

 

Draco went very still. 

 

 _She touched me!_ Draco thoughts were riotous, the beast within chanting furiously to take her, his human side warning him to move with caution. 

 

Deciding that he should trust his human side for now, he slowly ran his hands up her silk-covered arms. Trying not to startle her with his overwhelming desire to rip off her robes and take her on the couch, he cupped her face gently. As her eyelids slid shut, and her breathing grew erratic, Draco’s beast howled in triumph. 

 

_Mineminemineminemine…_

 

Suddenly, Draco turned and looked at the sky and sighed, cursing to himself.

 

It was such an out of character moment for her Dragon, Hermione was forcefully pulled from the sensual spell he had woven over her. Regaining her wits, she said, “What’s the matter?”

 

Draco’s lips quirked slightly, “We’re about to have a visitor.”

 

Before Hermione could inquire further, she heard the unforgettable sound of wings beating rhythmically. Instinctively, Hermione curled herself into Draco’s warm body, seeking refuge against the intruder. 

 

Clutching the soft silk of his robe, she sat very, very still as a great silver Dragon dropped through the ceiling. _Not Blaise, then_. Hermione thought with some relief. _I think Draco would tear him apart if he were to show his face here again. Slowly._

 

The giant creature lumbered towards them delicately, its sinuous neck swaying with every movement. Great gusts of steam streamed out of his delicate nostrils as sharp steely-grey eyes took them in. Hermione clutched the rough silk of Draco’s robe spasmodically, wondering why he wasn’t reacting. 

 

The new Dragon was huge, far greater in size than Draco or Blaise. In a word, he was massive. Unfortunately, he wasn’t fat. His thick muscles were incredible, and while Draco wasn’t delicate by any means, this Dragon was built on a much larger scale. If it came to a fight between her Dragon and this intruder, Hermione wasn’t sure who would win.

 

His skin was darker than Draco’s bright platinum, more of a burnished pewter hue. He had a diamond ruff that ran around his narrow, elegant head, leading into a trail of glittering spikes that trailed along his spine. 

 

The sharp eyes of the beast honed on the pair, and as it took in their close proximity on the couch, a low grumbling issued from his chest. 

 

Draco’s hands clenched spasmodically and he gritted his teeth in irritation. “Hello, Father.”

 

000

 

The beautiful man lounged on the couch like a sultan, his long silver hair tumbling down muscular shoulders and framing a face of harsh masculine perfection. The few wrinkles on his face only seemed to enhance his strong features. Hermione thought that her mother would be rather jealous, as she was ever complaining of her wrinkled skin. Of course, that was if she didn’t collapse in shock over his semi-nudity. 

 

 _Dragons really don’t seem to like proper clothing_ , Hermione thought ruefully as she deliberately kept her eyes from fastening onto the abundant male flesh before her. Trapped in a growing sense of unreality, she strode over to her Dragon, offering a selection of meats and cheeses on an ancient silver platter etched with runes. He didn’t smile at her, but she thought that his eyes were warm. That would have to be enough. 

 

Gathering her courage, she held her head high and walked to the older Dragon. His steel eyes gleamed cruelly as he stared at her.

 

“She’s a princess, of course.”

 

Hermione blinked in surprise, and the words were out of her mouth before she could reel them back in. “No I’m not.” 

 

“Not a princess?”

 

“No,” said Hermione, simply.

 

Lucius turned to Draco, eyes narrowed. “Your mother was a princess.”

 

“Yes, Father, I know.”

 

Hermione held her breath and waited for the swift blow of bloody death. 

 

Lucius, however, was content to lounge by the fire’s warmth and sneer at her. “My son with a common mate. How… amusing.”

 

Hermione’s spine stiffened. “I may not be of royal blood, my lord, but my family has been in the peerage since the days of the Romans.” Smirking saucily, she added, “And I do not see how it affects you in any manner. I do not know how Dragons arrange things, but in my world, servants do not need to be of the same social sphere as their masters.”

 

The older Dragon’s grey eyes blinked slowly.

 

Then, he roared in laughter. 

 

Obviously, this speech did not have its intended effect. Hermione shook her head and stormed to her makeshift kitchen. 

 

“Well, son. I see that the progress has been very slow. Do you need more help?”

 

Draco, stone faced, stared fixedly at the fire. There was an uncomfortable silence, and then Draco stood, suddenly. 

 

“I am going to get more meat. We do not have enough.” Then, he transformed hurriedly and took flight. 

 

Hermione was aghast at this desertion, but quickly marshaled her courage to face the situation at hand. 

 

So. They were alone. 

 

She had been in worse situations. Maybe. 

 

He stared at her rudely as she vigorously chopped the greens for their meal, and she glared back. She was without Draco’s protection, but she was too angry at this arrogant, demeaning, rude, condescending creature to care if he used her for a toothpick. 

 

She hoped she got stuck in his teeth. 

 

She smiled wickedly at that, and shot Evil Father a nasty look. 

 

Surprisingly, he wasn’t sneering at her, but contemplating her with a rather serene expression on his face. “You shouldn’t smile like that to another male.”

 

Hermione blinked and said, “What?”

 

“My son won’t like it, especially because you are still unmated. He would even attack me, his father, if he felt threatened.”

 

Hermione’s movements stilled, incredulous, as she heard this appalling speech. Setting her knife down, she strode over to the large man. “Surely he would not attack his kin? I don’t believe it.”

 

“Believe it,” Lucius’s words were flat, cold. “Dragons are naturally covetous, girl. We seem driven by blood to collect, to steal, to take and to possess.” As he said this, Lucius gave her a meaningful look.

 

“Me?” Hermione squeaked, “Surely you can’t be talking about _me_.”

 

“And why not?”

 

“I’m too ordinary for a Dragon! Brown hair, brown eyes, a pleasing figure. I’m pretty enough, but why choose me of all the exotic beauties I’m sure he’s encountered?”

 

Lucius gave an elegantly Gallic shrug of his shoulders. “Who can say how a Dragon knows his mate? I certainly don’t know, and I’ve felt it before.”

 

He leaned forward, steely eyes hard with menace. “But know this: once a Dragon feels the pull, he will keep the female with him. Forever. Depend upon it.” His voice was low and his words were spoken with the conviction of simple truth. 

 

Hermione felt a bit faint. She excused herself quietly, not caring about Lucius’s mocking smirk. 

 

She had to think.

 

000

 

The two Dragons lumbered towards to the exit after gorging themselves on the cattle Draco had ‘found.’ 

 

Lucius eyed the general vicinity of one very confused girl. He smiled contentedly. His son would have a very difficult time of it, he suspected. Green flames spilled out of his jaws as he chuckled. “Is she this diverting all of the time?”

 

His son’s long neck craned towards her scent, and his ruff puffed up around his face. “Usually, Father.”

 

 _Not what I would have picked, but a mate is a mate, I suppose. At least she isn’t an idiot. I couldn’t abide moronic grandsons._ “Then I approve.”

 

Draco growled, but his eyes seemed amused. “As if I needed your approval.”

 

000

 

Hermione was not an early riser by nature. She usually awoke mid-morning, and that was certainly early enough. So when she awoke at dawn, unable to fall back asleep, she was disgruntled. Turning to her other side, hoping the new position would lull her back into slumber, she was startled to find Draco still abed. 

 

Seizing the opportunity, Hermione lay very still and stared at his face, mesmerized by his beauty and by the softness his face had in slumber. He looked almost, but not quite, human.

 

Every day she grew more and more fond of him, but was that enough to marry upon? Her mother certainly thought so, and had often taken her to task for refusing so many eligible suitors. Her mind was in the clouds, and Prince Charming didn’t rescue damsels in distress. 

 

 _Certainly not Prince Charming,_ Hermione thought as she contemplated her Dragon. _I can’t be his mate. I just can’t be. His father was mistaken._

 

She held her breath as she saw him stir. Eyes still closed, he groaned softly and stretched sleepy muscles. His pale hair was mussed and his face was flushed and boyish. Slowly, he opened his eyes and blinked, adjusting to the light. His lips parted softly upon seeing her awake. 

 

“Good morning.” She smiled tentatively.

 

Draco’s sleepy eyes widened, then relaxed into content silver slits, “A very good morning, indeed.”

 

000

 

Later that day, Hermione was rummaging through a stack of chests, scavenging for clothing. 

 

“He has to own something that covers more skin than these robes,” She mumbled grumpily. While there was absolutely no order to the trove that Hermione could discern, she did notice that items could sometimes be found in patterns. Although said patterns, such as _Things With Gold_ , or _Small Things_ made very little sense to Hermione’s very human mind, she supposed it might help a Dragon keep things organized. 

 

Sweating, Hermione’s forearms burned as she heaved the heavy oak and gold lid off of another trunk and peered in cautiously. She gasped in delight. There, nestled in a downy yellow quilt, was a child’s heaven. Jam packed into the trunk laid a pewter top, wooden swords painted bright colors, an ivory whistle, golden rattles shaped like snakes, a leather drum, a whole battillion of toy soldiers, a variety of balls, and one lonely little cloth doll. 

 

 _I had a doll just like this_ , Hermione thought as one trembling finger traced the button eyes and the red-stitched smile. _It was my favorite toy, my companion on adventures. My parents gave it to me for Christmas._

 

She remembered that Christmas. She had been six years old, and it had snowed the night before. Her father had taken her on her very first sleigh ride through the forest. The air was frigid, and the blowsy powder fell into her clothes, but she didn’t care, because the magic of it outweighed those silly things. And when they arrived home, her mother had prepared a feast for them. Afterward, as they sang songs by the fire, they exchanged gifts. With wide-eyes wonder and joy, Hermione received the doll, and she gained a friend for life. 

 

Perhaps it still sat in her room at home… 

 

Hermione felt a great weight settle on her chest. She clutched the toy to her bosom as she let the memories wash through her, choking her with their intensity. 

 

_Home._

 

She remembered all of the little things that she had repressed. Her father’s soft humming as he polished his sword and scent of lavender in her mother’s solarium. Her way of giggling like a girl when something tickled her fancy. The smile-lines at the corners of her father’s amber eyes… 

 

The sob exploded from her body, clenching her guts, stealing her breath. _Mum, Dad. Oh, how I miss you._ She collapsed on the trunk, and wished fiercely that she would be in her mother’s arms, just one more time.

 

“What is this?” Draco roared, “What has harmed you?”

 

Hermione just looked at him and then sobbed harder. She threw herself into his arms, and twined herself around his lean frame. Burrowing her head into his warm chest, and clutching him close, she abandoned herself to the tears leaking steadily down her cheeks. 

 

Draco was aghast. He stared at her trembling form for a moment, before laying a tentative hand on her curls. She let out a loud sob.

 

“You will never to do this again!” he growled roughly. 

 

Hermione blinked. An image of Draco glaring at her every time she dared to shed a tear was so absurd it broke through her despair. She giggled a little and shook her head. 

 

Snuffling quietly, and mopping her tears the best she could with her hands, she gave him a sloppy smile and said, “I’m all right.”

 

Draco scowled fiercely as he stroked her hair. “No more of that. I don’t like it.” 

 

“Sometimes it makes you feel better to have a good cry.”

 

The Dragon’s eloquent sneer told her his opinion of _that_ particular aspect of womanhood.

 

000

 

Hermione sat by the fire humming softly to herself as she vigorously combed out the numerous tangles in her curls with her ivory-handled brush. Letting the heat from the dying fire slowly pull her to slumber, she yawned widely. Smiling sleepily, she moved to the bed and heaved aside the sumptuous bed linens. Making herself a nice, downy cocoon, she sighed happily and settled in for the night. 

 

Blinking sleepily, she wondered what area of the cave she should explore tomorrow. _Maybe the area by the hot springs. I haven’t been there yet…_ Her half-lidded eyes stared at the embers, her mind drifting into that lovely haze that precedes true sleep. 

 

The light was suddenly blocked.

 

Gasping, Hermione bolted from the bed, heart racing. 

 

Casual as you please, Draco melted out of the darkness. 

 

“Hush, woman.” Draco’s usual granite expression was in place, but his deep baritone was soothing as he approached. Tucking a hoydenish curl behind her ear, he gently caressed her face, making Hermione tingle down to her toes. “You startle too easily.” 

 

Giving Hermione a small smirk, his otherworldly eyes lowered, paused, and fixated on something below her neck. 

 

Hermione, until now, had been frozen in shock. As her nerves recovered, she had a sinking feeling that about what was so interesting to the Dragon. 

 

Her breasts were exposed. Of course.

 

She colored furiously, made an involuntary noise of distress, and quickly pulled up the silk sheets, swiftly covering all of the essentials. 

 

Draco’s wicked smile widened, and as Hermione watched, still disbelieving, he turned his back and nonchalantly started to disrobe. Her mouth went dry at the play of firelight on his ivory skin, the movement of his thick back muscles causing shadows to move enticingly. 

 

When Hermione caught a glimpse of a perfectly rounded arse, she shook herself out of the strange trance. Turning to her other side quickly, she said testily, “Don’t you have any modesty?”

 

She heard a deep chuckle, a soft creak, and felt his side of the mattress sink with his greater weight. 

 

“No. Modesty is a silly human concept. And not a universal one, I may add.”

 

Hermione then heard the distinctive sounds of covers rustling, the deep sighs of a drowsy man. She swallowed, and fiercely tried to will herself asleep. She tried not to think about the large man lying next to her, so close that she could feel the movements of his limbs as he snuggled deep into the downy softness, finding the most comfortable position for his large frame. 

 

_Invading my personal space again. At least I’m used to it by now. Sort of._

 

“Aren’t you going to look at me, little maiden? I am covered enough to satisfy your modesty, I think.”

 

 _Posed like that, I would look like a coward if I did not,_ Hermione thought irritably. 

 

She turned around slowly, and faced him, her face rosy with embarrassment and things she wouldn’t acknowledge. 

 

“There now,” Draco said, amused, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

 

Hermione sank into the blankets a little more, as her wide eyes took in her Dragon. His lower half was modestly covered beneath the sheets, as he’d said, but his top half was most definitely _not._ He was lying on his side, one arm splayed on the pillows, propping up his head, the other restlessly prowling the divide between their bodies. His pectoral muscles were gleaming in the dying glow of the fire, and Hermione thought he looked entirely too beautiful to be real. 

 

“I don’t see why you refuse to cover yourself. It makes me uncomfortable.”

 

The Dragon smiled wickedly, showing pointed teeth. “And I don’t see why I must, as garbing myself as a foolish human makes _me_ uncomfortable.”

 

She looked into amused eyes and harrumphed. Foolish indeed!

 

Deliberately turning to lie on her back and stare at the flickering shadows on the ceiling, Hermione asked casually, “So what do Dragons value if not modesty?”

 

Draco was silent for a moment, and then said, “Intelligence, cunning, wealth, beauty… and courage. Even if it does get one into more trouble than it is worth.”

 

Hermione digested this and filed it away for further contemplation. “May I ask you a question, my lord?”

 

“Proceed.”

 

“Are all Dragons like you?”

 

“Like me?”

 

“Do all Dragons transform into men?” 

 

Draco was silent for a moment, and instead of answering reached out to toy with her curls that were spread wildly amongst the pillows. 

 

Annoyed at his silence, Hermione snatched the hair away. “Well?”

 

Draco smirked slightly, but replied, “I don’t know. But all of the males I have met are of the transforming breed. Perhaps others exist, but it is unlikely.”

 

Eyes bright, Hermione asked eagerly, “Males?”

 

“All Dragons are male.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes. Which is why we capture maidens to breed strong Dragon sons for us.”

 

Hermione flushed and turned away from his heated stare to look at the lace canopy instead. _Just ask him, Hermione. Don’t be such a coward!_

 

“If I’m your, erhm…” Hermione felt her skin flame, and was sure her blush extended all the way to her toes by now. Gathering her courage, she continued, “If I’m your mate, like your father says, why haven’t you been more, um, mate-like?”

 

There was a charged silence, and then Draco’s soft voice whispered in her ear, “This is why.”

 

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off as Draco’s mouth slammed onto hers. Stiffening in shock, her eyes widened to saucer-like proportions as his large, naked body rolled onto hers, the thin silk of her robe the only barrier between them. He was hot, on fire, his body so damn _large_ , and it felt so hard and so very different from hers. One large thigh probed between her legs, gently parting them, while his restless hands wandered her silk covered torso. 

 

His mouth suckled fiercely, teeth nipping, as if he was trying to devour her whole. Hermione’s mind went into a slow tailspin from the pleasure, silencing her fears, as his tongue made slow sweeps to the seam of her lips in between his gentle bites. 

 

 _One touch surely won’t hurt,_ Hermione thought dazedly. Tentatively, she placed her hand to his beard-rough cheek. Draco let out a groan, the sound vibrating on her lips. As he made love to her mouth, she let her hand drift into his hair. Draco’s kiss grew more fervent in response, his tongue demanding entry to her mouth. Upon gaining it, he kissed her in such as manner that left her dazed, her body aching and overheated. Her other hand began tracing the deep muscles of his back and shoulders eagerly, and the other still clenched tightly in the rough silk of his hair. 

 

As she touched his skin, Hermione distantly remembered the serpent she had found in the garden last year, and this skin had nothing of that flat, scaly texture. Yet it was not quite human, either. Slightly rough one way, silky smooth the other, she could spend hours detailing the similarities and differences. 

 

His lips gentled then, tantalizing her with frissions of heat shooting straight to her belly, causing the slight ache to coalesce into a burning need that demanded to be satisfied.

 

The heat of large body surrounded her, and his heavy weight pressed her to the bed. It made her feel very small and fragile. His endless, drugging kisses made her grow restless and her body wanted to _move_. Seeking relief, she arched upwards, inadvertently rubbing her aching core on his thigh. She sighed as the hum of pleasure in her body increased, and repeated the action, smiling slightly as Draco’s kisses grew more and more fervent. 

 

As her control slipped away, she noted that his hands were working eagerly upon the fastenings of her robe. Finally growing frustrated with the ties, he fisted his hands in the delicate fabric, and tore it roughly from her body with a great ripping noise that echoed in the large cavern.

 

Hermione hardly noticed.

 

She did notice, however, when he touched her bare skin for the first time. She arched off of the bed as Draco cupped the heavy weight of her breasts possessively. He catalogued her skin, exploring it thoroughly, and generally driving Hermione insane with his slow pace. When he brushed her nipples, she cried out softly. Experimentally, he did it again. And again and again, until Hermione could barely remember to breathe. 

 

Just when Hermione thought she would go mad from the teasingly light touches, Draco suddenly dipped his head and captured one of the over-sensitized peaks in his mouth. 

 

She closed her eyes as his hands drifted up and down her legs, still doing wicked things to her breasts with his mouth. His tongue slowly, almost lazily traced her nipples now, and he slowly teased the trembling peaks of her breasts as his fingers traced tingly patterns on her thighs. 

 

His hands moved slowly, ever so slowly upwards to the spot where she desired his touch the most. Almost… Almost… Oh, dear God… _There_. 

 

Hermione opened her eyes in shock at the gentle touch. Her lips parted in silent wonder at the pleasure that he was giving her, and she wondered why no one had told her that the marriage bed was so lovely. She cupped his face, and just as she was about to capture his lips again she noticed something very odd. 

 

His eyes were glowing. 

 

It was like being doused with a vat of ice water. What was she doing? Was she ready for this? For God’s sake, they weren’t even married! It was highly improper living here while she was just a captive, but she was sure that becoming his concubine was a fast-track to hell. And he wasn’t even _human_...

 

“Stop…” 

 

Those demon eyes, like something out of her nightmares, haunted her even as his gentle touch enflamed her body. She needed to get out of here, away from him. She needed to _think_ damn it. 

 

“Please stop.”

 

The Dragon paused. His head was cocked slightly and his sharp teeth were bared aggressively, so very close to her fragile skin. 

 

Hermione cupped his face with trembling hands. “Please, Draco.”

 

He shut his eyes tightly, and when he re-opened them the eerie glow was gone. Slowly, as if doing something painful, he removed himself from her warmth. Hermione scooted away from him and drew the covers around her protectively. 

 

Seeing this, Draco’s already precarious temper snapped. “Stop that! I won’t hurt you, woman, but I will let you know one thing: the longer you wait to let me into your heart, your soul, your body, the stronger my beast gets.” Draco ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know how much longer I can control it. Come to me soon, or we will have a larger problem on our hands.” With that, Draco leapt off the bed with startling grace. He looked at her for a moment, fists clenched at his side, his face harsh and inhuman. Then, without another word, he strode away.

 

She watched his powerful, naked figure melt into the darkness of the cavern. When she could no longer see him, even when she squinted, she rolled over and stared sightlessly into the embers.

 

There was an ache in her heart every time she saw him. Was it love? She wasn’t sure. Her logical brain kept trying to analyze it, but she couldn’t come to any definitive conclusions. When he left, she was lonely. When he smiled, she was happy. When he touched her, she felt like she was going to jump out of her skin.

 

He was a fascinating, beautiful marvelous creature. He had a droll wit when he chose to speak. A serious, sound mind that she approved of, and she relished his company when he wasn’t scaring the daylights out of her. 

 

And he wanted her. 

 

She wanted… well, she didn’t really know what she wanted, but that wasn’t the point. She had never felt so wild, so out of control. 

 

As she curled herself into a fetal position in her heavenly bed, she rubbed her belly, hoping the deep ache within would subside soon. 

 

She was utterly, hopelessly, confused.

 

Weary, she closed her eyes tightly and wished she could just go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta for this chapter, Lorett.


	4. The Peril

Hermione finished rinsing her hair in the cave’s extensive natural spring system, enjoying the lingering smell of lavender and the sweet scent of beeswax candles in the air. She was glad to have this time to finally relax after the stress of last night. 

 

To one side of the pools, there was what Hermione termed the ‘washing area,’ for lack of a better term. Exotic soaps, oils, and perfumes crowded the shelves and there was always a fresh supply of fluffy drying cloths on a low stool. 

 

There were two springs, one piping hot- so hot she would turn pink and sweaty within ten minutes, the other a cooler, more tepid temperature. The pools were lined with jewel-toned mosaic tiles, depicting mermaids at play. Each pool was about four feet deep, but there were clever benches along the edges to lounge upon. 

 

In typical, methodical, Hermione-fashion, she would wet herself in the hot pool first, get out, carefully wash and then rinse herself with water from the colder spring. Clean, she would relax in one of the beautiful baths until she was a prune. 

 

Sighing, Hermione stepped into the scalding water of the hotter pool, letting the water work its magic on her tense muscles. Bathing had ceased to be a necessary chore. It was now a definite pleasure. 

 

Closing her eyes, she enjoyed the spring’s warmth. The cave was getting a bit chilly and as winter approached, she wondered what Draco would do to insulate his treasures from the elements. Perhaps he had other magic that she didn’t know about?

 

Tucking that intriguing possibility away to think upon later, Hermione threw her arms over the sides of the pool to cool off her torso, and delicately traced the edges of the lovely mermaids with her index finger as she mused about more important matters.

 

What the hell was she going to do? Surprisingly, Hermione had grown content here in her Dragon’s care. She was no longer terrified that he was going to grow angry with her for a minor infraction and eat her whole. 

 

She smiled wryly; _He wasn’t going to devour her in that manner, at least. He could consume her with kisses and she would die happily …_

 

That was another matter. Could she be happy here, living with Draco? As his… his wife for all intents and purposes? 

 

Blushing fiercely, Hermione crossed her arms over her bare breasts. She felt things for the Dragon that were entirely improper, entirely sinful and entirely delicious. She woke this morning with the memory of his large, rough palms running over her skin and she again felt the fierce ache start in her belly. 

 

Last night she regretted her instinctive fear of him the moment her heart had slowed down enough for her to think rationally. She hoped that she had not hurt his feelings with her rejection. She smiled wryly as she thought about his outbursts. _He can be so high strung sometimes, but he has never hurt me. I am not usually such a coward._ Ashamed, she sunk deeper into the hot water. 

 

Had she not wished for an adventure? Who better to share that adventure with than the mystical, fascinating creature that she had come to care for? 

 

 _If I truly care for him_ , she thought, _I am certain to be unafraid, or at least easily persuaded to forget my fear. I wish I could talk to Mum about this…_

 

A fierce, familiar wave of homesickness washed over her. Her mum would be able to sort through this problem. Hermione had inherited her logical mind and between the two of them, there was no problem they couldn’t solve. 

 

A tear slowly trickled down her cheek. Hermione quickly dashed it away and dunked herself in the hot water, enjoying the intense heat. She surfaced, and as she wrung out her soaked hair, she rose from the steamy water into the chilly air. As she rapidly toweled the water off of her body, she grew more and more determined. 

 

She would ask the Dragon to take her home. Even if she would most likely be eaten in the process. 

 

000

 

Throughout the day, Hermione could not get the thoughts of home out of her head. She used her ruminations effectively, however. Her plan of attack was very simple: relax the Dragon as much as possible and then ask. 

 

 _Pathetic, really_ , Hermione thought as she tenderized the beef for supper, _but hopefully effective._

 

She could not live the rest of her life without friends or her family. Eventually she would start to resent him and then those feelings would eventually spiral to resentment and possibly hatred, if they weren’t careful. Best to nip it in the bud now, at the beginning of their relationship. 

 

Hopefully Draco would see it that way. 

 

She worked her magic that evening, and relaxed Draco as much as she was able. A spectacular meal, some fine wine, seeing to his comfort diligently, and finally finishing the evening with a story while Draco puttered with a pile of new acquisitions. 

 

Hermione finished her tale, and in the moment of pleasant silence, she bit her lip nervously. _Might as well ask and get my death over with sooner rather than later._ She smiled wryly. _He may eat me for this one._

 

She took a deep breath and took the plunge. “Draco… I want to go home.” 

 

_“WHAT?”_

 

“I would like to go home to see my family,” Hermione said. 

 

Hermione saw his thunderous expression, and added quickly, “For a visit.” 

 

“No,” Draco said, rising from his comfortable divan. He stalked to Hermione’s position by the fire, his steps silent but for the swishing of silk. “You will never see them again,” he hissed. “ _Get used to it._ ” 

 

Hermione swallowed her rising anger and attempted to pacify him. “I won’t reveal anything. I promise.” 

 

The Dragon’s eyes narrowed, his voice colder than ice. “You’re a weak creature. A human. Inferior in every way. You will give something away.”

 

Hermione felt a flame of fury ignite in her belly. Weak? She would show him _weak._ “If I’m so pathetic and useless, let me go then.”

 

Draco pouted petulantly. “No.”

 

“Why not?”

 

Draco bared his fangs in a mockery of a grin. “Because you’re mine.”

 

Hermione clenched her jaw and marched up to the pile of objects that Draco had been inspecting. She bent and picked up a bronze helm decorated with red plumes and eagles wings, clutching it so hard that her knuckles were white.

 

“Oh, like this helmet?” She said, voice husky with anger. With a great heave, Hermione sent the ancient helm hurtling into the darkness, where it landed with a satisfying _bang._

 

Draco flinched. Hermione smiled. 

 

With gathering vehemence, she bent and picked up an ancient golden chalice. “Or like this goblet?” Again, she threw the delicate object as far as she could, where it shattered with a spectacular crash. 

 

In a vicious whirlwind, Hermione paced back to the pile and picked up a small, exquisite glass figurine, perhaps of a Roman goddess. In the small, rational corner of her mind, she realized that she was perhaps taking the argument a tad too far, but she couldn’t stop herself. She wanted to go home, she was prepared to be reasonable, and she was doing this for _them_ , God damn it, and the stupid lizard wouldn’t even _listen_ to her! 

 

“Like some _object_ without thoughts or feelings?” She cocked her arm, preparing to hurl the beautiful figurine to oblivion. Draco’s arm shot out and caught her wrist before she could do any more damage to his collection. 

 

He pried the object out of her hand and carefully placed it far from her reach. He then whirled upon her, molten eyes glowing and fierce. He grabbed her chin with ruthless fingers and held her steady, but not painfully, while he snarled inches from her face. 

 

“Your foolish wishes will compromise everything I’ve ever worked for; everything my race has worked for. All for some idiotic whim.”

 

Hermione, incensed, knocked his hand away. “It is not a whim! I won’t go home permanently; I won’t tell anyone anything about my life here. I just want to reassure my family that I am not dead.” 

 

At her words, he gripped her arms, his hands clenching and unclenching on her biceps. “You’re mine!” He snarled fiercely, voice rough and inhuman. “You’re never leaving here!”

 

Whirling, he disappeared in a cloud of smoke and silver. 

 

Hermione watched him fly away, her heart empty

 

000

 

Draco flew home to a cold, empty hearth.

 

After an hour of searching, Draco found her curled up on an overstuffed divan decorated with the eyes of cerulean peacock feathers peering in every direction, covered by a mound of plush furs of every shade. She was clutching the soft doll to her breast tightly as slow tears trickled down her face silently. 

 

He stared at her for a moment before sitting awkwardly at her feet. 

 

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes before Hermione broke the tension. “I can’t stand knowing that my parents are in the world thinking I am dead. I can’t stand it.”

 

Draco was silent, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap. 

 

Hermione picked at the doll’s red yarn hair nervously. Taking a deep breath, she continued. “They think you killed me.” 

 

At that thought, Hermione keened softly, “They think _you_ killed me!” Folding her arms across herself protectively, she sobbed softly. “Just now, when you were so incredibly angry with me, I realized that you would never hurt me. I wasn’t frightened of you. I was furious; I was frustrated, but not afraid. I’ve been so terrified of you for so long, I would react as if you were a mindless creature. But you aren’t. You’re as human I am, but… more. I’m sorry, more than you’ll ever know, for thinking that you were like an animal.” 

 

At her touch, Draco’s shoulders flinched. She couldn’t see his face, but he couldn’t be unaffected by this. If he cared for her, he just couldn’t be. 

 

“I know I’ve been incredibly dense about everything.” Here, Hermione reached out a trembling hand and sunk it into Draco’s long silky hair. “But if you can forgive me, I think I’ve figured out what to do.” 

 

At her touch, Draco turned around suddenly, his breath coming in short gasps, his eyes fixed on her face. 

 

Hermione took a long, shuddering breath. She retracted the hand that was buried in his pale hair to lay it back upon her lap, and resumed her nervous fiddling with the doll. “I will allow you to court me. To see if we will suit together as… mates.” 

 

Draco lunged upwards with startling speed, large hands grasping, eyes triumphant. 

 

“Draco, stop!” Hermione said, exasperated. “Listen to me, or we won’t ever mate. I mean it!”

 

He froze mid-breath.

 

Sad amber eyes focused on him, searching his harsh face for any hint of compassion. “I need to see my parents. I need to let them know I am alright. I need to let them know that you didn’t kill me and that you treat me kindly.” 

 

Draco’s eyes flared brightly at her words, glowing dimly in the faint light, and he did not reach for her again. 

 

“I know that my life here is wonderful and magical and everything that I’ve always dreamed,” Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath while fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, “but I want to go _home._ I am a social person by nature. I love my family, and need friends. If there will be any hope of nurturing whatever we have between us, you need to know that I will need companionship.” 

 

“And… and I think that if we continue this way, I’ll eventually grow resentful of you and your power over me. I am a creature who loves freedom, too. How would you feel if someone bound your wings and forbade you to fly?”

 

Draco sat silently as marble, eyes averted. Hermione continued, only hoping that she could reach him, reach his humanity. 

 

“We need to work together, to listen to each other if we are to have the slightest chance at happiness,” Hermione whispered, passionately, fresh tears spilling over her lashes. “Don’t you see?” 

 

“I thought we had a discussion about this weeping.” Draco reached over and wiped the tears off her cheeks gently. His deep voice chided her, “You weren’t to do it again.” 

 

Hermione, startled, smiled softly. “I can’t really control it, you know. It just happens.”

 

The Dragon’s mouth twisted sourly, even as his thumb ran over her cheek in small, soothing circles. “I suppose this is one of the many things I do not know about women. How charming.” He let out a deep breath and mumbled, “You may go to your parents. But I am coming with you. And if it goes well… perhaps I could stand a yearly visit. As for companionship, I believe that the mates of other Dragons will do.” Here, he looked like he swallowed a lemon whole. “I will… consult… Blaise and we shall arrange something.”

 

“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!” Hermione beamed at him, and the steady flow of tears ceased. She pressed his hand tightly to her cheek for a few precious moments, and then fled his confusing presence. 

 

He watched her go, and wondered how making such a poor decision could make him feel so damn good. 

 

000

 

There was no moon that night. Early evening starlight reflected off the Dragon’s silver skin, and refracted through the diamonds around his head making strange nighttime rainbows. The Dragon passed as a shadow over the sleeping land, blocking the stars, diving through the gathering clouds playfully. 

 

Hermione had wanted to ride safely in his claws again, but Draco insisted that she mount him and ride on his back. Before mounting, she had made him promise to fly safely and simply, with no sudden movements. He had smirked wickedly in answer, transforming in a cloud of electric smoke without speaking a word. He lay down, his long elegant neck and large head on the ground, very still. Hermione had tentatively crept onto his back, Draco peering at her from the corner of his eye. 

 

Somehow, she was sure he was smirking at her. 

 

Hermione sat astride Draco’s neck, her limbs clutching onto him for dear life. When she was able to keep a decent hold on her stomach (which wasn’t often, unfortunately) she looked at he countryside in wonder. When they passed a village, she squinted, trying to find other humans, but her search was always futile. Once, she saw movement, but her weak night vision couldn’t make it out. 

 

The village was not familiar to her at this height and looked identical to the others that they had passed on their journey, but something about it must have been special, as Draco started circling. Down, down, down they went, plunging swiftly to the earth. 

 

Hermione clutched onto Draco’s warm neck, burrowing into his comforting warmth, reminding herself that he was an expert at flight, and that he most assuredly did _not_ want to kill her from fright, despite all evidence to the contrary. She peered over his rhythmically beating wings and grew dizzy. _Dear Lord, the ground is rushing upon us so fast!_

 

However, much to Hermione’s relief, Draco’s lean form leveled out and he alighted with astonishing grace. Craning his long neck to look at her, she could swear that he smirked at her smugly. 

 

Grumbling as she descended, Hermione set to unpacking Draco’s clothing from the sack they had brought from the cave as he transformed. After a day of searching through dusty trunks, and hundreds of rejected possibilities, she had finally found him something to wear Draco found acceptable, and that did not offend Hermione’s sense of modesty. 

 

The outfit was startlingly simple for a creature with such extravagant tastes. Fine butter-soft black leather chausses over his braies, a sumptuous black silk tunic trimmed with elegant silver embroidered serpents. A dramatic black cloak completed the outfit, made from the softest velvet that Hermione had ever felt, trimmed with shining silver ermine. 

 

The dress Draco insisted she wear was almost the opposite. Clad in crimson silk so fine it felt like it was sewn onto her body, she felt both decadent and embarrassingly aware of her body. Gold flowers were painted onto the fabric with exquisite, exacting care. Adding to the unearthly effect was the fortune in Ancient Egyptian amber and gold that Draco insisted she wear collaring her neck and arms. A scarlet cloak covered with intricate braided whorls woven from gold protected her from immediate identification, made of a soft yet strong material that glistened in the starlight. 

 

Waiting for Draco to finish dressing, Hermione wandered around the clearing restlessly, eager to be on their way. She moved through the woods like a flame, her slight frame shimmering in the dim light. Together, they looked like two creatures from Faerie ascending to the world of mortals to seduce, to lure, to break hearts. 

 

Draco pulled up the cowl of his black cloak, obscuring his unearthly features in shadow. Gently, he adjusted the edges of Hermione’s scarlet hood. Satisfied, he offered her arm his in a surprisingly courtly fashion. Tucking her small hand beneath his, he murmured, “Lets get this over with.”

 

000

 

The two figures, one tall, threatening and robed in black, the other slight and robed in bright, incandescent red, approached the gatehouse. Guards stationed at either side of the gate on high towers nocked arrows in warning, making sure the intruders could come no closer. 

 

One of the men, highly trained eyes never leaving the unexpected visitors below, shouted to the people below. “Halt! State yer business! This be Lord Granger’s land yer trespassin’ upon and he isn’t expectin’ company this night.” 

 

The tall man stiffened and moved to stand in front of the girl, but the red-clad figure touched his shoulder, gently restraining him. 

 

A calm, clear, feminine voice said, “We seek entrance into the castle, sir. To speak with my father.” 

 

Small hands, wrists sparkling in the torchlight, slowly lifted the berry-colored cowl, revealing her lovely face. 

 

“It’s Lady Hermione!” One of the young knights gasped, recognizing her. “Open the gate, immediately!” 

 

Disbelief rippled through the men. A clamor started, as men quickly ran to do the knight’s bidding, murmuring to each other in astonishment. 

 

“… The young mistress!?! A miracle… ” 

 

“…But she be dead…”

 

“…It be a ghost…” 

 

“…Unnatural…”

 

An old knight crossed himself quickly as the drawbridge was lowered. “This be the work of the devil. I can feel it.”

 

The massive portcullis was raised and the guests were rushed into the courtyard, moving them swiftly to the citadel proper, bypassing the stunned castle folk quickly. The guards surrounding them peered at the sky and spoke to one another nervously, as if scared that the Silver Dragon would appear at any moment to reclaim its prize. A few canny knights eyed the stranger in black suspiciously, trying to peer at the threatening stranger’s face. 

 

In the shadows of his cloak, Draco smirked at their fear. 

 

Hermione and Draco soon were in the great hall. Her father’s steward led them to the fireplace where her mother sat with her embroidery and her father with a book. Hermione’s heart beat faster at the sight of them. The smells, the sounds, the snap of the rushes beneath her feet… 

She was _home._

 

She couldn’t take the courtly formality anymore, so she picked up her skirts, rushed past the shocked steward and an amused Draco, and ran to her parents. 

 

The next few moments were unlike any other in Hermione’s life. A blur of shouts, tears, laughter, and, most of all, joy. 

 

Draco stood back, silent and hooded, a ghost, ignored by the primary parties of the drama unfolding before him. He watched the reunion carefully, and although he knew that this visit was breaking the laws of his people, his heart felt a measure of peace at seeing his mate’s happiness. 

 

He studied the humans that sired his mate curiously. Hermione had much of the look of her mother, he decided. They shared the same small stature, delicate bone structure and wild hair. However, his mate had inherited her snapping eyes and stubborn jawline from her large, intimidating father. 

 

“… He’s the Dragon’s sworn vassal.” 

 

Draco was torn from the contemplation of Hermione’s smooth cheekbones by her words. _Time to play my part in this farce._

 

He bent in an elegant, precise bow. “Sir Malfoi, at your service, Lord Granger.”

 

Hermione’s father rose from his protective crouch around his daughter to assess this potential threat. His black eyes narrowed, and he stalked forward to meet Draco. 

 

Draco remained still under his cloak, waiting. 

 

Lord Granger’s lips thinned. Finally, he said, “Well met, Sir Malfoi.” 

 

The older man’s nostrils flared slightly, as if he could scent the predator invading his den. “I have just one question for you. My daughter was taken by the Silver Dragon many months ago. How is it that she is alive today?” 

 

“My Lord Dragon employs human servants to perform tasks that he cannot,” Draco said smoothly. “The Lady Hermione prepares meals for the other human servants and entertains us all with her superior bard-craft.” 

 

Hermione remained silent during this tale, amazed at how her normally silent Dragon could lie so smoothly. She turned around to find her mother’s piercing black gaze upon her. Startled, guilty, she jerked her head back around to look at her father and Draco. 

 

Her father frowned at the mention of his daughter’s reduced status, but he was distracted by what Draco said next.

 

“… My Lord Dragon sends a gift to the family of his favorite servant.” Draco reached into the sack they had brought with them from the cave and pulled out a spectacular blue pear-cut diamond necklace, surrounded by black pearls and bound up in a silver setting, to gasps from everyone in the room. 

 

“This is the Goddess of the Sea,” Draco explained to his enthralled audience. “It was said to encircle the throats of the Empresses of Ancient Rome and before that, the High Priestesses of Babylonia. It is said to be imbued with ancient magic from the Sea Goddess because they admired its extraordinary beauty. It was lost to time with the sacking of Rome. Now it is yours. As long as you possess this jewel in your family, it will bring you good fortune.” 

 

Hermione’s father stood and accepted the gleaming necklace with wide eyes. “Sir Malfoi, your Lord is most generous. Tell him that I thank him for this priceless gift and for letting my daughter return to me.”

 

“Er, about that,” Hermione interrupted. She walked to her father and placed a small hand on his burly arm. “Father, I have to go back.”

 

Lord Granger’s expression grew thunderous. “Explain.” 

 

“I vowed, on my honor, that I would return tonight else he would not have allowed this visit. You wouldn’t want to make an oath-breaker of me, would you, father?” 

 

Lord Granger gritted his teeth. “No, but…” 

 

“… So we will enjoy what little time we have,” Lady Granger, who had heretofore been silent, analyzing the interactions behind inscrutable black eyes, interrupted in a firm voice. After casting a significant look at her husband, which made him close his mouth sullenly, she continued. “We will have a feast tonight to celebrate our daughter’s return. Hermione and I will go to my chambers and we will rest before we sup.” She then tuned to Draco with a small smile and said, “Sir Malfoi, if you would like to refresh yourself, a servant will escort you to the guest chambers. If you need anything at all, we shall do our best to provide it.” 

 

Draco bent at the waist in a proper bow. “Thank you, Lady Granger. That will be acceptable.” 

 

Lady Granger, with a triumphant smile, curtseyed to the gentlemen and left, arms linked tightly to her daughter’s. 

 

000

 

Hermione sat on a pillowed bench in her parent’s luxurious bedchamber in front of her mother’s cherished mirror. It was tall, tall enough to reflect her father’s full height, and wide enough to comfortably fit three grown girls sitting side by side. It was framed in silver inlayed walnut, the cool spirals of precious metal tracing a pattern of leaves and flowers around the border of the reflection. 

 

Hermione had long considered it the most beautiful object she had ever seen, but now it seemed… dull in comparison to the fortune found in her new home. 

 

Still, she treasured sitting in front of the mirror once again, almost as much as exploring Draco’s priceless artifacts. Was that what made true treasure, she wondered absently, the memories that make something precious? 

 

Her mother retrieved her favorite pewter horse-hair brush and methodically, rhythmically, began to make some order out of Hermione’s windblown curls. Hermione hummed in contentment, remembering countless evenings sitting in perfect comfort, exactly like this. 

 

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, her mother began chatting, bringing Hermione up to speed on local gossip, news of her younger brother’s fostering, and about her oldest brother’s service to the King. Soon, her mother grew silent, her face attaining that determined look Hermione knew well. 

 

“You look well, my darling. Are you,” Lady Granger hesitated, not meeting Hermione’s eyes. “Are you content?”

 

“Yes I am, Mum.”

 

Her mother’s lips tightened and her hands ceased the soothing brushstrokes. Suddenly, she dropped the brush with a loud clatter and knelt at Hermione’s feet and touched her face with trembling hands. Her black eyes were overflowing with tears as she stroked her daughter’s face. 

 

“But how can you be! You look so well, but how can you stand that creature! We thought you were dead. Dead!”

 

“You don’t understand, Mum, he’s…”

 

“What, Hermione? He’s a Dragon! A mindless beast. Stay here, love. We can protect you. Somehow we can free you from that beast’s spell.” 

 

“No, he’s more than just a beast,” Hermione insisted. “And I am certainly under no spell. I do not mind living with the Dragon. He is not such a harsh master. In fact, I’m not sure if he notices I am there most of the time.” Hermione smiled and silently prayed God’s forgiveness for the lie she was telling.

 

“And there are other benefits to living with my Lord Dragon,” Hermione continued. She wove tales of the beautiful treasure trove, the beautiful springs, and the delights of flight. She told her mother about the kindness of ‘Sir Malfoi’ and how much she enjoyed talking with him, trying to ease her mother’s instinctive fear for her offspring the best she could. 

 

“Yet what is this knight’s character? Can you trust him to defend your honor?”

 

Hermione grinned. “He’s arrogant, insufferable, and his temper is horrid. But he has been nothing but honorable, patient and gentle with me.”

 

Lady Granger remained skeptical. “But living alone in the company of a beast and a man to whom you are not wed? As their servant, no less?” Her mother made a pinched face at the idea. “None of it is proper, but I suppose it could not be helped. However, you can be home now, and no one will need to know what happened.” 

 

Hermione closed her eyes, fighting the tears that stuck in her throat. Wasn’t this what she secretly wanted in her darkest heart of hearts? She would be given her old life back and everything would go back to living in comforting normality. She would have ease, assured love and peace. 

 

But that would mean no treasure to explore, no adventure. 

 

And no Draco. 

 

At that thought, an instinctive dread clutched her heart. 

 

_Dear Lord…_

 

“I love him.” Hermione said, her eyes wide. Suddenly, she laughed. “How could I be so stupid?” 

 

Her mother watched her, tears dry but her brow still furrowed. “Perhaps you do, love this Malfoi. But I still fear for you and I cannot condone you living in sin with him. Has he offered for you?” 

 

Hermione blushed, thinking of Draco’s desire for them to be mates. “Yes, he has. But I have not yet given him my answer.”

 

Lady Granger’s face was unfathomable. “Good. Because you must think of things other than love, dearest. Can you condone being a servant the rest of your life? Living with beasts till the end of your days? Bearing children without the company of the women who know you? _Think,_ Hermione. It is so much more logical to stay here, with the family that loves you.” 

 

Hermione embraced her mother tightly. She inhaled the sweet smell of mother, of vanilla, of _home._ Even as happy as she was, her heart ached. “But I love him, Mum, and I’m happy. Even though I hate the thought of your dread, now you know why I have to go back.” 

 

000

 

Although Draco was obviously uncomfortable during the impromptu celebration, he did make an effort to be civil, which Hermione appreciated. He conversed with her parents, ate with exquisite manners and generally acted like a normal human, albeit an aloof and arrogant one. He refused to take off his cloak, and although Hermione prodded him about it, she understood the need to hide his unnatural appearance as much as possible. It added an element of awkwardness to the interactions, but it couldn’t be helped. 

 

After supper, they gathered by the hearth of the Great Hall to enjoy goblets of fine French wine. It was obvious that her parents were desperate to have her stay and were looking for excuses to prolong the visit. Hermione was content to let them have their way but Draco, in a fit of pique, stood up when a call for minstrels was set forth in the wee hours of the morning. 

 

“We leave now.” 

 

Draco’s deep voice startled Hermione and her parents who had been so absorbed in each other that they had almost forgotten his presence. 

 

Hermione, mutinous, opened her mouth to protest but snapped it shut at the weight of Draco’s forbidding glare settled on her shoulders. “Mum, Dad, I have to leave now.” Hermione held up her hand, stilling their vehement protests. “But I promise that I will be back. Perhaps for a longer visit next time?” She shot Draco a sly smile. 

 

He rolled his eyes at her coy expression. _So obvious._ But he smirked nonetheless. 

 

Amid much fussing and tears, the small party eventually made it to the entry of the castle. The formerly beautiful evening was no more. A storm had rolled in from the west sometime during the night and the sky was filled with crackling thunderbolts, and buckets of freezing rain fell to the courtyard before them. 

 

“Well,” Lord Granger said jovially, “I suppose you will just have to wait the weather out!”

 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude on your hospitality…” Draco said with extreme reluctance. 

 

“It is nothing, nothing at all. Anything for my daughter.” 

 

Hermione was trying to peek at Draco’s shadowed expression while concurrently clutching her heavy cloak tight around her body to ward off the cold wind, when she felt a wet hand clamp down, hard, upon her shoulder. Snapping her head around, she opened her mouth to berate the rude owner of said hand for ruining such costly silk. 

 

But when she saw who it was, her words dried up and she felt the blood leach from her body, her marrow turn to jelly with alarm. 

 

Ron…

 

His dark red hair was plastered to his head, clothes soaked through, with no cloak to protect himself, as if he had jumped on his gelding with no heed to his own protection when he heard the news that the object of his childhood yearnings had come back from the dead. His earnest blue eyes gazed deeply into her amber ones, lit with hope and desperate love. He was the sweet, careful suitor from her childhood, but he was all Hermione had never wanted in a husband.

 

“Hermione?”

 

_… This is bad. This is really bad…_

 

“I heard… I didn’t believe… I wanted to so badly, but…” Ron’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, his voice raw with unshed tears. “Oh, _Hermione._ ”

 

It happened in slow motion. Hermione’s eyes were fixed on what was visible of Draco’s shadowed, frozen face through the heavy rain as Ron’s lanky form enveloped her in a shaky embrace. 

 

She watched, frozen, as Draco’s eyes widened, then narrowed to thin slits.

 

 _Oh God, oh God, oh GOD._

 

Then the world exploded.

 

There was a cacophony of shrieks, human and something _other_ that burned into Hermione’s brain. She felt Ron’s arms torn from her forcefully and, overbalancing, she toppled to the ground outside the protective arch of the entry and into the freezing rain.

 

Shoving fistfuls of mud-soaked hair from her eyes, Hermione tried to focus on the figures through the sheets of rain. She struggled to wrench herself up, fighting her heavy, sodden layers, slipping on the coarse mud and pebbles. As her mother’s wails grew louder, Hermione assessed the carnage before her.

 

The two men were a mass of limbs and violence. Even through the heavy rain, Hermione could see that they were unevenly matched. In one sinuous move, Draco was standing over a white-faced Ron, holding him effortlessly; seemingly unconcerned of the violent, wild blows Ron rained against his chest. Draco hissed, bearing sharp fangs and sunk his claws deeply into Ron’s left shoulder, pinning his arm down. As Ron screamed in pain, Draco raised his other hand above his victim’s neck, claws sharp and lethal.

 

Hermione’s father, at the imminent threat of death to a boy he had long considered a son, courageously jumped into the fray and grabbed Draco’s arm, futilely attempting to stop its slow decent to Ron’s vulnerable throat. 

 

Draco’s cloak had fallen away from his face during the fight and Hermione could see his terrible expression. His eyes were glowing bright, polished silver, his wet pale hair matted to his skull, and the Dragon’s normally pleasing sharp features were now jagged and elongated, with his white, white fangs bared in a gruesome, gleeful smile. 

 

He looked like a demon sent from the depths of hell. 

 

The Dragon’s hand closed around Ron’s trembling throat. “Now you die,” Draco rasped. 

 

His voice was a catalyst, ripping Hermione out of her shocked daze. She dashed through the heavy rain, slipping and sliding on mud and pebbles to kneel beside her Dragon. She delicately slid a trembling hand onto his tense shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. “Don’t do this, Draco.” 

 

Draco blinked, for a moment blood lust gone, and then he sneered and shrugged off Hermione’s hand. “The filthy human dared to touch what is _mine._ He is mine to kill. Do not interfere, woman.” 

 

Panicked, Hermione could only think of one thing to do. She took a steadying breath and said, simply, “Give me his life and I will give you mine.” _This will work. He could not refuse such an offer. This has to work._

 

Draco sat, silent and still, breathing heavily. “Swear it.” 

 

“I swear, on my honor, that my life is yours, forever.”

 

Ron heretofore mostly silent, except for whimpers of pain, screamed, “No!”

 

Draco shrieked in fury at this defiance to his claim and buried razor-sharp claws deep into Ron’s chest. Lifting him over his head, he threw him across the courtyard in a careless demonstration of brutal strength. Ron landed with a jarring thump of flesh hitting stone. 

 

Hermione had no time to go to Ron, no time to say goodbye to her traumatized parents, no time to worry about the repercussions of what Draco had just done, for she was immediately covered by a thick layer of smoke. Moments later, huge claws tore her from the ground, and she gave a startled scream as she felt her feet leave the earth.

 

Once again, Hermione found herself kidnapped by a dragon.

 

Ron watched the dragon climb into the sky to disappear into the thick mist from his position on the ground, blood, rain, mud and tears mixing on his face. 

 

000

 

The harried flight back to the cavern caused a fierce wave of déjà vu to wash over Hermione. As she flew over the sodden English countryside, desperately trying to keep warm despite the pounding rain and shrieking winds. Again, she was caught up in the Dragon’s claws, but instead of terror, she felt a strange sense of anticipation. 

 

Finally, after an eternity of frozen fingers and toes, Hermione felt Draco start his descent. Draco put her down on the cavern floor, more gently than Hermione expected given his current emotional state. Her crimson dress was ruined, great gobs of mud streaking the drenched painted silk that clung to her wetly. Hermione felt a fierce pang of regret at the destruction of such a beautiful piece of art, but shrugged it off as the smoke signaling Draco’s transformation started to swirl about the cave. 

 

He changed rapidly, as soon as his claws hit rock. Not even attempting to cover his nudity, or his bulging erection, his glowing feral eyes traced her exposed curves slowly. Hermione shivered from something other than bone-deep chill. 

 

She watched, mesmerized as he prowled closer, closer, until he was so close she could feel the tremendous heat from his body. He leaned close, lips skimming over the skin of her neck, close but not touching it, so close she could feel puffs of hot breath on her throat. His large hands lightly touching the damp, exposed skin of her back, sending small tremors of delight arching through her. 

 

Then, he sniffed her. Shaking his head and taking a few involuntary steps back, his lips curled into a harsh sneer, and he said, “Clean the stink of that human off of yourself. It disgusts me.”

 

With that, he stalked off into the gloom, leaving Hermione very alone. 

 

 _Jerk,_ Hermione thought sourly. 

 

000

 

She sat in front of the fire, comfortable in a soft nest of furs and pillows, drying from her bath, unable to sleep, unable to keep the images of that evening’s confrontation from running through her mind. 

 

_Ron’s blood slowly seeping through the fabric of his shirt._

_Mum’s shriek of horror._

_Father’s strong arms bulging as he tried to tear the Dragon’s claws from Ron’s flesh._

_Draco’s inhuman face as he tore into Ron with glee…_

 

What would this mean for him, now that he had been exposed to the human world? She was scared for him, scared for the consequences of this evening that had gone horribly, horribly wrong. 

 

But what scared her the most was her own reaction. She wasn’t afraid of his power anymore. She was upset with his actions, but the demonstration of his brutal strength, his overpowering possessiveness, did not disgust her as it once would.

 

It excited her. 

 

Hermione groaned and covered her eyes with her hot palms. _What a disaster. I’ve gone mad. Completely, totally mad._

 

Hermione sat, a ball of confusion and arousal, for an indeterminate amount of time. When Hermione glanced up, Draco was there, shrouded by the darkness, watching with hungry eyes.

 

Pale hair disheveled, as if hands had torn through it in a frenzy. Muscles tense, as if poised to spring on unwary prey. Lungs heaving, as if he had just flown for leagues. Fangs sharp, as if ready to tear into flesh. 

 

Still gloriously, menacingly nude. 

 

Hermione sat very still, the instinctive stillness of a small, frightened animal scenting a predator. 

Eyes the color of her father’s steel sword slowly assessed her. His hot gaze took her in from her delicate naked feet to her damp, curly hair. “I’ve fought it for too long. And with that _human_ touching you… I will have you.” 

 

He moved faster than Hermione could speak. She opened her mouth to protest, but was shocked by his sudden appearance at her side. A flash of silver eyes, a ripple of muscle, and his hot mouth was covering hers. His kiss was not gentle; lips, tongue and teeth claiming ownership over her, asserting his dominance over her body. Her body fell back onto the pile of fur, his huge frame looming over her, making her fell small, helpless. 

 

Hermione, initially overwhelmed by this erotic assault, was still. But the demands of her body could not be ignored, so she closed her eyes and began to kiss him back. Her tongue mated with his and he practically purred with satisfaction at her eager response. 

 

“You’re mine!” He growled those words as his lips began a gentle assault on her neck, nipping and licking his way down the slender column. His hands burned with the need to touch her, to elicit the same crazed fire within her, so he slowly began to explore her curves. Sharp claws traced fiery patterns upon her skin through the silk and upon her exposed flesh. He cupped her aching, full breasts with a hiss of triumph, rubbing the sheer silk over sensitized peaks. 

 

Hermione moaned softly at the sensation and felt the Dragon’s lips curve from their place on her neck. Dipping his pale head, he brushed the silk away impatiently and captured a rosy nipple in his mouth.

 

Hermione’s eyes rolled back and she felt her womb clench in response to the overwhelming sensation of Draco’s rough tongue lapping at her breast. As his mouth feasted insistently on her body, Hermione felt a restlessness overtake her. Her hands clenched and unclenched in his hair, her head tossed and turned upon the soft bed of pillows and fur, her hips moving restlessly, searching for something, anything to ease the ache inside. 

 

His nostrils flared, scenting the sweet musk of her arousal. Her scent, her cries, her taste- they lit a fire within him, his senses expanding, sharpening. Slowly, his beast corroded his human superego until only one desire was present – to claim his mate. 

 

The Dragon craved the feel of her skin on his and grew annoyed with the human clothing. He fisted one hand in the delicate blue silk of her nightdress, and with a great rip, it tore, leaving Hermione’s rosy skin bare for the beast’s approval. 

 

Hermione, startled by the sudden chill against her skin, emitted a shocked squeak. 

 

Draco’s hyperacute hearing picked up her small sound of distress immediately. Panting, Draco pulled away from her warmth with great effort. “I’m sorry…” He opened his eyes and took in her disheveled hair, her kiss-darkened lips, her flushed, creamy curves, and groaned. He kissed her, then, desperately, consumingly. In between kisses, he whispered, “But I can’t leave. So… sorry…” He looked into her eyes longingly, his eyes molten silver; pupils slit and cat-like. 

 

At his words, Hermione felt a rush of love fill her and she answered him the only way she could. She gently placed hand on the side of his strained face and with tender strokes, she softly eased the lines of tension from his sharp, feral features. Slowly, she brought his lips to hers for a tender kiss. The tip of her tongue traced his still lips, tasting the wild spice that belonged to her Dragon. 

 

Draco had been touched gently a scant handful of times during his brief courtship with Hermione and never, ever with this sort of intensity. He tried to remember the last time he had been touched this way- tenderly, softly- but he could not. Dragons didn’t have much need for contact and cuddling like the humans seemed to, so with his mother gone, there was very little touch growing up. But he had never missed it, until now. With dazed wonder he gave her free reign to explore, his beast quietly mesmerized by her gentle ministrations. 

 

Sensing that the beast was quiet for the moment, Hermione eagerly began to explore her Dragon’s body. He was huge, a perfectly proportioned Adonis, and if she had any artistic ability at all, she would have tried to capture his beauty for all to see. Her palms traced the heavy muscles of his chest, arms, abdomen and thighs with fascination, marveling at the feel of his strangely rough skin, at the hardness of his body. 

 

Draco felt like he had been thrown into heaven. He had never felt so much pleasure in his entire life. He became a beast of sensation, feeling _everything_ \- her every light caress, every puff of her breath on his chest, the roughness of her nails on his skin, the smell of her musk, the taste of her sweat. He could feel his awareness expanding, heightening- as easily as breathing. If he wanted, he could count how many coins there were in his cave; scent the deer in the forest above and taste how close his female was to orgasm by licking the salt from her skin.

 

 _Magic_ , his mind whispered. 

 

 _Mine_ , the Dragon inside his heart whispered back. 

 

Gently, curiously, Hermione touched the smooth hot flesh of his cock. At his guttural groan, she looked up at his hooded eyes, watched the way they changed with the movement of her hand– now bright, glowing silver; now inhuman, with no thought except carnality.

 

Hermione’s amber eyes darkened, and, biting her bottom lip in trepidation, she gave his cock a hard tug. 

 

“Ungh!” Draco threw his head back, eyes shut tightly at the electric pleasure that pooled in his hips and spread to his toes. As Hermione began to tug and stroke in a gentle rhythm, the threads keeping Draco’s beast leashed snapped. 

 

Roughly, he tore her hand off his aching cock and parted her thighs. The scent of her arousal; pungent, musky and hot, surrounded him and caused his penis to swell to the point of pain.

 

Growling, baring his sharp teeth, he held her restlessly undulating pelvis still, pinning her. Then, without thought, just pure instinct, Draco drove into Hermione’s tight wetness, balls deep. 

 

Hermione screamed at the sudden explosion of pain deep, deep inside. The fierce melting pleasure dissipated, and with its disappearance, panic began to take its place. What was she doing? She needed to get away, she needed to think. But she couldn’t escape him. He was within her, above her, surrounding her with his incredible heat. She began to squirm, trying to dislodge the cause of the burning pain in her pelvis, fists flailing at his heavy chest futilely. 

 

Draco bared his teeth in a sharp sneer at Hermione’s pitiful attempts to escape. “Do not fight me, woman.” His voice was barely human, gravelly with unfulfilled desire. 

 

The Dragon was enraged at her - so she thought to flee him? He would bind her so tightly that she would crave him before he was through with this night. Suddenly, Draco felt a deep need, a dark instinct welling inside him as he continued to smell her fear. In a flash of insight, he _knew._ He knew how to bind her to him, he knew how to soothe her, and he knew how to make her his forever. 

 

One large hand curved possessively over her right breast, his cock still buried in the painfully tight sheath. He fisted his other hand in wild curls, jerking her head back to expose the line of Hermione’s pale white throat. 

 

Hermione began to breathe harder with this new vulnerability, her eyes wild, breasts heaving, hands uselessly pushing on his huge, heavily muscled body. Her thoughts were scattered; she loved him, she trusted him, but oh, the pain was so intense, almost as intense as the pleasure before it, and she felt like she was being split into pieces. 

 

_Oh, Draco. Please let this be over soon. Please…_

 

Draco’s nostrils flared at the scent of her tears, and a purring sound emitted from his throat to try to soothe her. His nose burrowed deep into the exposed, vulnerable junction at her throat and shoulder, scenting deeply. His tongue darted out to taste her skin there, a heady mixture of fear and pleasure bursting onto his tongue. He licked the flesh there softly, repeatedly, his fangs aching and heavy, waiting for something, something…

 

Hermione calmed, bit by bit, from the Dragon’s gentle ministrations. His gentle tongue lapping against her skin felt hot and rough, sending frissions of electricity down her spine. Her breathing slowed, and her hands unfurled from their fists and slowly slid over his chest to wrap around his tightly corded neck. Her tight sheath relaxed to try to accommodate his huge erection, and her emotions slowed their downward spiral into blank terror. 

_Now,_ the beast urged.

 

Draco bit down hard, sharp fangs slicing through skin and muscle, pumping magic into her veins, binding them together forever. 

 

Hermione screamed, the pain briefly slicing through her senses, but suddenly her shrieks turned to those of pleasure as the wetness, the arousal, the yearning that left with the breaching of her virginity returned, multiplied a hundredfold. The magic was burning, burning like fire through her blood, sparking off nerves and sending thrills of excitement around her and through her. The power of the Binding grew and grew, until it exploded in her body, causing a fierce melting rush that warmed her body from the inside out. 

 

Draco’s eyes rolled back into his head at the taste of her blood in his mouth, as his fangs sank deep into skin and muscle. Suddenly it was too much - Hermione’s sheath spasming on his cock, the pungently sweet scent of her orgasm, the sounds of her screams in his ear, the weight of her arms clutching his neck, her legs wrapped around him in ecstasy - and his body exploded into hers, helplessly pumping his seed into her tight cunt. 

 

Panting, Draco lifted himself onto his elbows to grin at the boneless, shocked girl lying beneath him. He was still hard and aroused inside her, but the edge was off and the reins of control were back in place. Gently, he pulled out of her wet vagina with a groan. The scent of blood and magic rose from the bite on her neck and Draco growled with satisfaction. 

 

Hermione was shocked by the strange spell that came over her body. One moment she was in pain and the next she was catapulted to the highest peak of bliss she could imagine. She could still feel the strange, powerful throbbing that the bite had caused, sleeping deep within her womb, waiting to be reawakened. Lazily, she ran her fingers through his soft hair, wryly noting his pleased expression. Her gaze roved from his content face, down over heavy muscles to his lean hips, and was shocked to see his penis still fully erect. 

 

Draco slowly smiled, fangs gleaming in the firelight wickedly.

 

He bent his head, and licked and learned the varying tastes of her body. He tasted her breasts, suckling until the pert peaks were rosy, aching, and his woman was squirming with need again. He caressed and nuzzled the curves of her belly, tickled and teased her thighs until Hermione huffed in annoyance, caressing his shoulders, urgently trying to clasp him to her. 

 

“Draco,” Hermione whispered raggedly. 

 

“Hmmmm?” Draco hummed, the vibrations sending over sensitized flesh haywire. 

 

“I need you, I need you,” Hermione whimpered as he blew lightly into her wet curls, her hands fisting in the soft fur beneath her, her hips twisting, womb aching. 

 

“Shhhh,” Draco hushed, and spread the outer lips of her vagina, exposing her gleaming center to his avid gaze. 

 

One long slow lick down the length of her vulva, and Hermione stopped breathing. She lost track of time, her world narrowed to the junction of her legs, and the silver creature was oh so clever with his mouth. Kissing, licking, suckling on the center of her pleasure, she sobbed when he slid a long finger into her tight cunt. He looked up, silver eyes gleaming, and repeated the motion, just to obtain that delicious noise again. 

 

His strokes were long, slow and measured, and guaranteed to drive her insane. He was methodical in her seduction, cataloguing moans, gasps and screams, experimenting with touch, pressure and tongue, to elicit his favorite cries. He added another finger, and another, slowly stretching her until the fullness ceased to burn and began to feel wonderful. 

 

Just when Hermione could take no more, Draco scraped the side of a fang over her over-sensitized clit, driving her into a shattering orgasm.

 

Throughout the rhythmic contractions, he still pushed hard with his fingers in even strokes, drawing out her pleasure, avidly watching her face. She was gorgeous when she orgasmed, he decided. A flush extended from her hairline down to her breasts, her full lips were parted and her eyes screwed tightly shut, as if the pleasure was too great, too overwhelming for her small human body to handle. 

 

_I did this to her. Me. Mine._

 

He restlessly humped the furs, fangs and cock desperately aching, but something, that same nameless feeling, prevented him from mounting her again. 

 

 _Mark her; make her yours_ , the Dragon whispered in his heart. 

 

His silver gaze focused on her inner thigh, creamy and smooth, and bit down viciously. 

 

Hermione shrieked from the bittersweet combination of pleasure and pain, the muscles of her vagina clamping down on his fingers viciously. The little magical bubbles rushed into her veins again, this time more potent, overwhelming her senses with the sensation of falling from a great height into a pool of hot, hot water. The magic licked her skin with a thousand fiery tongues, and when Draco tongued her clit again, it sent her body headlong into ecstasy. 

 

Hermione was still spasming when Draco’s thick cock entered her cunt, and it was much easier this time. As he slid home, Draco groaned at the hot welcome. Helpless to prevent it, he drew back his hips and plunged into her, hard. Hermione rose to meet him, her hips moving counterpoint to his, helpless to stop. Her hands were all over him, kneading, stroking, caressing his flesh. As he drove into her with punishing force, Hermione’s fingers curved into claws and she raked his ivory skin with her strong human nails, leaving angry red claw marks. 

 

Draco gave a deep growl of approval as they raced to an orgasm that sent chills of sparkling ecstasy racing down his spine. 

 

They fondled, sucked, tasted, smelled, loved and fucked without speaking for what felt like hours. He learned the secrets of her body, learned her pleasure, her sighs, her moans, the taste of her skin, lips, pussy, blood. 

 

The Dragon and the man, equally, wanted her addicted to his scent, to his seed, to his cock. 

 

Hermione wasn’t sure how long they lay on the furs beside the dying fire before Draco gathered up her and moved them to the bed. Once there, he urged her onto trembling knees, his dick buried deep into her aching wetness. 

 

She was holding the headboard for support, the carvings pressing into her hands as he pumped into her furiously, his hot, huge body covering hers, her sweat plastering her curls to her skin. One large hand covered hers; anchoring her to the world of the living, the other hand clenched her hips, relentlessly pulling them into a frantic rhythm. 

 

Hermione’s legs were sore, her arms jelly, but she didn’t care, didn’t even think about those petty concerns. The world’s focus was narrowed to one point as he slammed into her. There was no gentleness in his strokes; they were hard, fast, deep… 

 

_I’m dying, I’m dying… Oh… I’m…_

 

Her body clenched around his cock tightly, rocketing them into the bliss of completion. The pounding delight went on and on, destroying her conceptions of heaven, of hell. She belonged to this creature now; there was no going back to her old life. 

 

Bonelessly, she slumped to the headboard and panted desperately for air. 

 

Draco, still hard as a diamond, moaned and continued to pump into her in time to her pulsations. 

 

“No more, can’t do anymore,” Hermione gasped. She turned to look at Draco’s fever-bright eyes and softly caressed his damp neck. She smiled wryly and said, “I’m only human, Draco.” 

 

Draco growled softly and stroked her cheek soothingly. His strokes slowed, became almost gentle as he sweetly peppered her swollen lips with kisses. He pulled out of her swiftly, and repositioned her beneath him. Gripping her ankles tightly, he placed her small feet on his chest and entered her with one slow stroke. 

 

Hermione felt the now-familiar fever start to grip her weary body, a slow warmth building with each deep thrust. He kissed oversensitive breasts, fangs scraping as he pumped into her slowly, sending delicious pangs of pleasure radiating from her cunt up her spine. His thick penis hit a new spot in the front wall of her vagina and she felt her pleasure spinning tighter and tighter. 

 

Draco felt the walls of her cunt tremble as her orgasm approached and felt the deep ache in his fangs again. Without slowing the driving rhythm, he leaned down, cupping her heavy breasts. Swiftly, his fangs bit into the flesh of her left breast, over her heart, sealing their mating with magic that no one could rend asunder. 

 

Hermione tightened around him with a keening wail and the Dragon in his head roared in triumph as pumped his life, his dreams, his magic, his soul into her. 

 

Draco collapsed on top of his woman, finally satiated. He reached out with his hyper-acute senses, and felt that the mating bond was fully in place, his Dragon’s heart sheltering the new connection with the small female covetously. 

 

They lay there, in their shattered stillness for a long time, drifting in and out of sleep. Draco felt Hermione squirm underneath him, and moved to the side, withdrawing his cock from her wet depths with a groan. 

 

Hermione flushed from head to toe, embarrassed. She smiled shakily and said, in a voice raspy from screaming, “Hungry?”

 

Draco smirked and breathed in their co-mingled scent and sighed in pleasure. 

 

 _Mine_ , the beast purred. 

 

“Always.”

 

000

 

The Serpent and the Dragon was, possibly, the most famous pub in England. It was the public façade of the hallowed Order of the Slayers, and as such it was granted specific honor and jurisdiction by the King himself. Decorated with portrait of Slayers from ages past, teeth and scales from famous kills, and glorious spoils from cache after cache of Dragon treasure, it was a strange mixture of threatening and awe-inspiring. 

 

The lanky man walked into the crowded pub tentatively. He stood silently, back against the cold cobblestone wall, observing the clientele. 

 

The man he had been searching for sat at the bar. Although the pub was crowded, that patrons gave this man a wide berth. Although tall, the man at first glance seemed too slender to be a great warrior, as if he didn’t have the physical strength to hold a rapier, let alone a broadsword. 

 

Yet at second glance, one noticed that his lean frame had a wiry, explosive sort of strength, his eyes had a lethal edge, and that his hand was steady with the reflexes of a god. 

 

The newcomer strolled up to the bartender, desperately casual. 

 

Eventually, when he worked up the nerve, he approached the warrior, two cups of ale clenched tightly in his fists. He shoved one cup of ale at the warrior awkwardly, by way of introduction. “You’re Harold Potter.”

 

Green, deadly eyes were trained on him before he even spoke. The mug sat, untouched, between them. “I prefer Harry, actually.”

 

“I’ve heard you kill Dragons.”

 

Harry cocked his head slightly and grabbed the mug. Taking a long, slow swig he sighed loudly. Then he said, deliberately, “Yes, I do.”

 

Ron smiled, slowly. “I have a job for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was betaed by the spectacular Ravyn!


	5. Chapter Five: The Peace

Draco woke slowly. A strange lassitude suspended his body, his limbs drained of strength. He cracked open one eye, and noted by the angle of the sunbeam that it was much later in the day than he had ever slept before. He supposed he should feel some guilt at his laziness, but he couldn’t seem to work up the effort.

 

He rolled over and examined the sleeping bundle of warmth next to him. Her hair was even wilder than usual- soft curls turned into frizz with snarls tangling her hair into a mat around her head. Her skin was marred with scratches, love bites and was sweat stained. Her eyes had dark circles under them, and her figure was limp, boneless with the deep sleep of a child. 

 

She looked exhausted. 

 

Draco’s blood started pumping hard, and he caught his breath at the swift rush of desire that filled him at the sight. 

 

 _Mine,_ his beast purred lazily. It was slumbering happily, for now, curled up around Hermione’s place in his soul. Draco felt the bond, and mentally tugged at it with sharp teeth. The sweet tang of magic filled his veins, and a sense of deep peace emanated from the small thread that connected them. 

 

 _It is sound,_ Draco thought, relieved. _It just needs a little strengthening._

 

Draco grinned at the thought, slowly, wickedly. 

 

_Food first._

 

000

 

Hermione woke smiling.

 

Her body was aching and she was exhausted, but Lord was she relaxed. 

 

She was also covered by a mountain of furs and blankets. They were piled so high she could barely move. _I know that it is approaching winter, but this is ridiculous._ Hermione thought as she battled the down and wool. Throwing off some of the covers, she scrambled for enough leverage to pry herself up with tired arms.

 

Glancing around, she noted no signs of recent Dragon-like activity. The fire had burned down to coals, the piles of treasure were still untouched, no food seemed to be strewn about, and the kitchen area was un-destroyed. 

 

It seemed her Dragon was out.

 

In all honesty, Hermione was a bit relieved. She loved him, she lived with him, slept with him and now she did… other things with him. Their relationship had taken a gigantic step forward last night, and Hermione was glad of a bit of peace to reflect upon it. 

 

She flopped back onto the pillows and scooted back down into the heated warmth under the mound of down, fur and wool. She burrowed deep, until her fingers grew toasty again. Once warm, she stretched leisurely, taking up as much room in the huge bed as possible, splayed like a starfish. 

 

_I should get dressed. Or start breakfast. Mmmmm, the bed is so warm... Ten more minutes._

 

She woke again to the sound of wings. 

 

 _I must have fallen asleep again,_ Hermione thought groggily. Rolling over onto her belly, she buried herself in the pillows. _It’s too bright in here…_

 

She must have drifted to sleep again, because she woke suddenly to a hand caressing her shoulder. 

 

“Draco?” She muttered, eyes still closed. 

 

“Who else?” Draco replied, amused. 

 

“Mmmm….” Hermione stirred a little and flipped onto her back, but decided that sitting up required too much effort. “What smells so divine?”

 

“Breakfast.” 

 

The mattress of the bed bowed, and Hermione mustered enough energy to crack open her eyes. Draco was sitting on his side of the bed draped casually in an eye-popping cerulean robe. He was currently balancing a tray in his lap piled with all sorts of foods. Most were dishes that Hermione knew and loved. Some of it was food that Hermione had never seen before. She didn’t particularly want to know how Draco had managed to obtain it and was certainly happy to lie abed this morning rather than preparing breakfast. 

 

Hermione smiled brightly and stretched her weary muscles. Too late, she caught sight of Draco staring with fascination at her bare arms and shoulders peeking out from the bedcovers. Hermione flushed brightly, conscious of her nudity, feeling vulnerable. _Why didn’t I get dressed while he was gone?_ As she quickly made sure that the critical areas of bare skin were not on display, Draco settled onto the pillows, the tray on his lap. 

 

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Draco, are you eating in bed?” 

 

In reply, the Dragon raised a brow and popped a sausage into his mouth. As he chewed, he smirked slightly. 

 

Hermione’s lips curled into a sneer and the happy fog of sleep dissipated from her mind. Pushing a few layers of blankets off of her, she sat up and glared at him. “You’re making a mess. Crumbs in the bed attract all sorts of nasty parasites. And I will be the one to clean up the mess.” She raised one naked arm imperiously, her wild hair spilling around her bare shoulders. “Eat at your couch.” 

 

Draco cocked his head slightly. “No.” He deliberately plucked a bit of yellow, crumbly cheese off of the gold platter, popped it in his mouth and chewed deliberately, slowly. 

 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible. It is a perfectly reasonable request, in fact…”

 

“Fig?” He interrupted. He delicately popped the sugar-encrusted fruit into her open mouth. 

 

Hermione closed her eyes as the sweet sugar glaze melted in her mouth. She chewed slowly, enjoying the lovely combination of the tart fruit juice mixing with the sugar. Blinking slowly, she swallowed and said, “Oh my. What was that?”

 

“That was a fruit from the Greek islands. One of the Lords nearby has an insatiable sweet tooth, and imports food from all over the world. I take advantage whenever I need a taste of sugar.”

 

“My Father always says that such luxuries are sinful, and a waste of the cost to import.”

 

“Hmm. To him, perhaps. Would you like more?”

 

“Yes, please!” 

 

Hermione could practically feel the smugness radiating from him, but chose to keep quiet about it for the sake of her stomach. 

 

There were standard foods- kippers, sausage, breads, and cheeses- that Hermione had broken her fast with for most of her life. There were very expensive things, dishes her mother reserved for special occasions, like apples and pears preserved in sweet syrup. Then there were exotic things, things Hermione had only seen while at court – like oranges, plums, marzipan, and rolls so light and fluffy they must have been cooked by magic. 

 

Tentatively, Hermione began to choose various delicacies that she liked and thought Draco might also enjoy. She brought a particularly sugary date to his lips and presented it for his inspection. He smiled slowly, widely, before opening his mouth. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. 

 

_I wish he would smile more often…_

 

He fed her tangy apples preserved in sweet, sticky honey-syrup. The messy food wasn’t particularly conducive to bed-snacking, and the syrup drizzled down mouth and onto the high curve of her breasts. Draco’s eyes followed the golden trail and flared bright silver.

 

Hermione froze in the act of licking her lips and suddenly remembered to be self-conscious. She felt her face grow hot and flushed, and she dipped her gaze to the half-empty tray. _Bravery, Hermione. Be brave._ Embarrassed but determined, Hermione lifted her eyes to his, and was lost. 

 

Carefully, he leaned over the tray and cupped her jaw, running callused fingers gently over smooth skin. She closed her eyes and sighed in delight. She felt his weight shift on the bed. 

 

His hands traced soothing patterns on her back and arms as his lips concentrated on the raw, red bite mark at the juncture of her shoulder and neck. He hummed in contentment, and the vibration on her tender skin made Hermione’s breath hitch. His clever tongue darted out to taste the salt of her sweat mixed with sweet honey, soothing her abused neck. 

 

As he continued to suckle her throat, he relished the little moans and whimpers that escaped from Hermione’s throat. He stroked her back, gentling her and coaxing her to be more responsive. He pulled back slightly and assessed the bite mark. Angry and red, it stood out lividly against her pale skin, edges deep where his fangs had sliced into her soft flesh. On one hand, his beast was eminently satisfied that his possession of her was so blatantly displayed. The other more human part of his psyche felt guilty for marking her so brutally. 

 

He was not a gentle creature, but for her… he could try. 

 

Quelling the urge to dominate her, to possess her, to make her scream out for her true master, he gently, gently began to trace the full contours of her breasts with the sensitive pads of his fingertips. Lightly raking his nails over the peach-colored tips, he smirked as they hardened. 

 

Dipping his head, he lapped along the trail of honey slowly dripping from her collarbone to her breasts. He savored the mixed flavor of sweetness and salt, as well as Hermione's startled reactions. 

 

 _She still isn't used to any of this. Go slow, go slow._ He repeated the mantra over and over, willing his eager beast down, wanting this experience to be more than the mindless rutting of last night, more than the pleasurable joining of their bodies. _She will love me. She will._

 

Mentally, he inspected the tiny string connecting Hermione to him. The small bond thrummed with life, vibrating with their emotions. He forced himself to pull back, to respect the slow speed at which the mating must take place, lest he break what fragile hold he had with her already. 

 

As he nipped and licked and sucked, Hermione's instinct was to turn away and cover her nudity. Last night when she was caught up in the sensual fury of her Dragon, she did not notice her nudity or the sinful liberties Draco took with her body. This morning her Dragon was being so wonderfully gentle, and while her tired body appreciated it, it gave her mind a lot more time to think, to analyze. 

 

The intimacy was wonderful, scary, overwhelming. It made her want to hyperventilate. 

 

The modesty drilled into her from childbirth seemed a blockade to true happiness with her Dragon. And she did want that happiness, so badly. Her parents had a lovely marriage, and she has always dreamed of finding something like that with her husband. But her husband was not... normal. Yet he was changing for her. Had he not gone to her parents when she asked? Had he not stopped when he was on the verge of slaughtering Ronald? 

 

Hermione's fair soul would not let settle for anything less in herself. _If he is making the effort to change, to make me happy, than I will do the same._

 

Swallowing her trepidation, Hermione reached for the bowl of honeyed fruit. Draco's glowing eyes watched her intently, tracking her movements like a predator, but doing nothing. Dipping her fingers into the sticky mixture, she offered him a small slice of apple. 

 

Deliberately, she smeared a bit of honey on the corner of his mouth as he bit into the juicy fruit. His eyes widened as he caught her intention, but he remained still. 

 

She chose another apple, this time trailing it over his body, letting warm, golden droplets fall onto his alabaster skin, creating a trail of stickiness from his neck to sharp hipbones. Draco squirmed as she brought the fruit to his mouth, deliberately holding it a few inches from his face. Growling, he moved his head suddenly, capturing the fruit, and her fingers with it. His silver eyes burned into hers as his hot, wet tongue slid over her fingers, sucking hard to get the syrupy sweet honey. 

 

Hermione swallowed and her mouth went dry. _This might be easier than I thought._

 

Hermione licked her lips and took her fingers from Draco's mouth. Again, he was still as stone, watching and waiting to see what she would do. Tentatively, she traced sticky fingers over his smooth, soft lips.

 

 _Fortune favors the bold_ , Hermione, on impulse, did something she had been fantasizing about all morning. She leaned forward and kissed him. 

 

It was just as good this morning as it was last night, possibly even better. Draco no longer was shadowed by rage and Hermione’s senses were no longer clouded with fear and confusion. Their lips met softly at first, sweet and tart, tasting of apples. 

 

The kiss was tender, heart-wrenchingly so. Unlike the animal-like passion of last night, he was exquisitely restrained. He was the perfect lover, letting her tongue trace the crease of his expressive mouth, patiently letting her suck his honeyed lips clean. When her tongue dipped into his mouth to tangle with his, he let out a strangled moan. His hands stopped tracing soothing patterns on her back, and he curled them into fists, as if restraining himself from touching her any more than necessary. 

 

Her lips slanted over his, again and again, frantic, and a jolt of heat struck her to the core and a realization hit her. She wanted _more._ She wanted the passion of last night, wanted the animal as much as she wanted the man. But did the beast inside him care for her as much as she cared for him? She was unsure. His animal side scared her as much as it fascinated her. Nevertheless, it was a part of him, perhaps the biggest part of him, and this eddy of confusion and fear couldn’t last if she wanted to be his forever. 

 

She was loath to break the kiss, but she needed to know the answers, needed to know before she gave even more of herself to this fascinating creature. Huskily, Hermione whispered, “What am I to you, Draco? What is a mate? A plaything? A trophy? A treasure? A lover?”

 

Draco was quiet for a moment. He gently gripped her wrist turned his head to place a kiss in the center of her palm. He slanted her a wicked glance, then scraped sharp teeth over the vulnerable pulse at the juncture of her thumb and wrist without breaking her fragile skin. Hermione gasped, but remained obstinate. “Just answer the question, Dragon.”

 

A part of him was angry. How many times must he explain himself? Didn’t she realize what she was to him? Couldn’t she see how much he cared for her? Finally he said, “How many times must I reassure you, woman? I will say this once more only because I wish for peace and not your endless questions. You are the companion of my life, and I will never take another.” Suddenly his eyes narrowed to slits of silver. He bared his sharp teeth and squeezed her wrist tightly. “Are _you_ having doubts? Because I vow you will never, never leave my side while I still breathe. You are mine.” 

 

Hermione could somehow sense his anger, his intense frustration. And underneath it all… hurt? 

 

Hermione caught her breath. He was angry and wounded, but this time it was her fault. _How to soothe the beast?_ Hermione thought rapidly. _Well, there is the tried and true method._

 

Hermione untangled her fingers from Draco's long platinum hair and began to run her hands up and down his back, lightly grazing his smooth skin with her short nails. Draco growled a little, but began to relax. 

 

"Hmmm... A little more to the left... Right _there._ " Draco's eyes rolled back in his head and his tilted up his chin, his mouth curling in contentment. Hermione grinned widely. _It really is simple to tame the beast. Just scratch him like a kitty and he'll purr!_

 

Laughing a little to herself, Hermione leaned forward, nose burrowing into the warm skin of his neck. There was a droplet of honey lingering on his collarbone, and Hermione, without a thought, extended her tongue to lap it up. 

 

Draco froze. 

 

This time, Hermione was not afraid. With her newfound, fragile confidence, her tongue darted out again to taste Draco's skin. She worked her way up the long column of his neck to the shell of his ear. 

 

"What would you like, Draco?" She whispered. 

 

"Kiss me," he rasped. "Kiss me again."

 

Hermione rose onto her knees so her face was level with his, leaned forward, and lightly brushed his lips. 

 

Draco was very still, very restrained. Yet in some way, she could feel the beast in him yearning to break free. The good girl inside of her wanted to stay away from that predator, to enjoy the lighthearted exploration she was taking with his body. But the other part of her, the wicked troublemaker, wanted to test those chains, to see how far they would go before they would break.

 

 _No contest_ , Hermione thought. With a naughty smile, she swept her tongue into his mouth. At his groan, she gave an internal shout of triumph. In a burst of inspiration, she captured his bottom lip between her teeth, and worried it between them. 

 

It was like pouring oil onto a fire. 

 

Suddenly, his hands were everywhere. Running down her back, squeezing her breasts, pinching her nipples, caressing her neck or thighs. He grabbed her by the waist, covers and all, and pulled her into his arms until their bodies were plastered together, chest to chest. Hermione threw her arms around his neck for stability as her balance was pulled off-kilter. The movement of the mound of blankets caused the tray to clatter to the floor, food spilling everywhere. 

 

Hermione tsked. "Now the food is all over the floor." 

 

Draco fisted a hand into the hair at the nape of her neck. "Fuck the food," he growled.

 

Savagely, he ripped at the pile of blankets covering Hermione's waist, shredding some in his haste to remove the barriers between them. When she was finally bared, he pulled her onto his lap, legs straddling his lean hips. With a harsh tug, he jerked her hips towards his, and when her moist heat touched his throbbing penis, he cursed harshly. 

 

He captured her lips in a frantic kiss, and Hermione thought all of the blood was going to boil out of her veins. His body seemed to grow hotter, and as his tongue plunged relentlessly into her mouth, his hips moved, almost unconsciously, his erection caressing the wet place between her thighs.

 

Hermione closed her eyes and threw back her head as a wave of intense bliss tingled up her torso, the feeling centered on the point of intimate contact between her and her Dragon. As Draco's hands did amazing things to her breasts, Hermione became aware of something not quite right. 

 

In her mind, there was something... other. 

 

Something inside of her whispered dark dreams, whispered wicked suggestions Hermione had never before contemplated. It wasn't a voice, per se, it was more of a... presence. One that apparently was very naughty. Images, stray thoughts whispery impressions of emotions floated through Hermione's consciousness, all amplifying her need, driving her body into a frenzy. 

 

A bestial growl rose in her throat, unexpectedly. _Mine!_

 

Hermione gazed at her Dragon with heavy-lidded eyes. His glowing eyes were trained on her breasts and abdomen, intensely focused. "Draco." 

 

His head snapped up, and he raised a brow haughtily. 

 

Something inside Hermione snapped. "You are mine, Dragon. As much as I am yours. And I'm keeping you." His eyes widened, shocked, but Hermione gave him no time to react. Her mouth latched onto his with dizzying ferocity, their teeth clacking together in her haste to consume him, to make him her own. 

 

His body was huge, muscles corded and tense with anticipation, with restraint. Hermione’s frantic hands gripped and massaged, spreading the trails of sticky honey over his pale pectorals and his rippling abdominals. His size often made her feel small, weak and helpless, but for once, instead of feeling intimidated, she felt a wave of delicious pleasure at the thought of the powerful male underneath her. 

 

Hermione’s kiss burned through Draco, his beast howling to be let free, to bite, to claim, to mate, but his commitment to Hermione’s pleasure hung on by a gossamer thread. Her small lithe body was rubbing all over his like a cat’s, her wet core sliding over his shaft with agonizing slowness. 

 

One of his hands gripped her hips, slowly controlling the undulating rhythm, teaching Hermione what movements pleased him the most. His other hand wandered from breast to soft belly, to silky nape to muscled thigh. As he brushed the bite mark on her thigh, he heard Hermione's breath catch, and her lips stopped moving over his. He opened his eyes slightly, and noted the look of complete rapture on her lovely face. 

 

_She's Beautiful. Mine._

 

He needed to be inside her. _Now._ There was no stalling it anymore, no matter how slow Draco's human side wanted to take her. His desire to be inside her had started when he rose this morning and smelled her scent next to him in the bed knowing that she was finally his mate. Now that she was here, aroused and ready for him, Draco’s self-control was in shreds. 

 

Draco took advantage of Hermione’s momentary lapse in concentration. Repositioning their bodies, he sat so that his massive weight was fully supported by the heavy headboard, and Hermione was fully seated on his erection. Hermione shot him a anxious look, blinking rapidly. She stilled her hand on his chest, ceasing her tugging and tweaking of Draco’s nipples. The last thing Draco wanted was for her to be startled out of her erotic haze, so he purposely rubbed the bite mark on her thigh. Hard. 

 

With a shout Hermione arched her back, rubbing her clit over the tip of Draco's penis. Groaning at the sensation, Hermione did it again. She writhed on his cock until the friction was unbearable, her mind dizzy with arousal, her body frantic for release.

 

Draco groaned at the picture of wild abandon Hermione made. The small female was beautiful, her face and chest rosy, her dark hair wild around her head and back. He plunged one large hand into it, willing back the urge to control and dominate. 

 

She opened her eyes and flashed him a taunting grin with swollen red lips. With a deliberate twist of her hips, her wetness was poised over the tip of his cock, only to be taken away moments later. When she repeated the movement, Draco could take it no longer. 

 

Capturing her hips with one hand, he forcefully stayed her seductive movements. Hermione's brows drew down angrily and she opened her mouth to speak, annoyed at having her fun cut short. 

 

Draco didn't care. He fisted his cock with his other hand and fed it into her taut wet sheath. He groaned at the sensation of having her wetness surrounding him once more, and slid into her until he could go no farther. 

 

Hermione stifled a scream at the sudden penetration, nails digging into Draco’s shoulders as she slid down – inch by inch – until Draco was fully seated inside her. Panting heavily, she wiggled a little, startled by the lack of pain and how good the sudden fullness felt. Draco groaned roughly at her movements, fingers digging into her hips. Experimentally Hermione rose up on her heels a little bit, and then sat back down. She exhaled harshly at the pleasure that shot through her. 

 

 _Oh my Lord._ Hermione thought, wiggling a little. Her motions caused Draco to groan roughly, his hands clenching her hips roughly. Experimentally Hermione rose up on her heels a little bit, and then sat back down. She exhaled harshly at the pleasure that shot through her. 

 

_Wow. Just... wow._

 

Smiling timidly, Hermione braced her hands on Draco's tense abdomen, Draco's hot, hungry gaze watching her with a predator's stillness. Levering herself up, she rose on Draco's cock to the crown, and then slid down very slowly, relishing the intense pleasure. She closed her eyes, and did it again. And again. And again. 

 

Draco felt like he was going to explode from this slow torture. His balls were tight, his erection so engorged with blood he thought that he might faint, but he was no closer to orgasm than he was twenty minutes ago. His beast wailed in fury, straining against its chains, wanting to throw his mate to the bed and shoving his cock inside her, balls deep. 

 

He concentrated on the pain of the carvings of headboard sticking into his back. He concentrated on increasing Hermione’s pleasure by caressing and twisting and tweaking as much of her body as he could get a hold of. He tried _not_ to concentrate on Hermione’s soft moans of pleasure, the way she sighed his name, groaning out the last syllable. He also tried not to think about how good she smelled, how the scent of sex, sweat and honey was filling his brain, causing fangs to elongate. 

 

 _I will not lose control!_ Draco thought desperately. Hermione slowly sank down on his shaft again, this time twist her hips slightly. The beast howled in frustration. _Oh Gods. What is she doing?!? She’s trying to kill me._

 

At that moment, Hermione sighed, her vaginal walls tightening ever so slightly, and Draco's tenuous control was lost. 

 

Draco reared up, clasping his arms around Hermione tightly, her sweat-slick body pressed tightly to his. Her eyes snapped open, and she opened her mouth to speak, but Draco's fierce gaze silenced her. He roughly shoved a hand into her hair and jerked her head back to expose her nape. Mindlessly, he bared his fangs and sank sharp teeth into her flesh. 

 

Hermione's mind went blank as a wall of fire gripped her body. Her cunt tightened as waves of delicious pleasure burned their way through her body, melting with the joy of release. 

 

As Draco suckled her neck, his eyes rolled back into his head at the sudden tightness, and his mind went black. Rolling over swiftly, he crushed Hermione's small body with his own, the instinct to dominate taking over the coupling. 

 

He thrust into her welcoming wetness frantically, his beast glorying in Hermione's frantic moans. He burned for her, burned for release, and as he felt his balls tighten in anticipation he bit the mark on her breast. Hermione moaned his name as he spilt his pleasure into her, and the beast was roaring in triumph. 

 

Draco collapsed on top of her limp form, lungs heaving. 

 

Hermione, crushed by his weight, elbowed him in the ribs. Draco reluctantly rolled off of her with a groan. 

 

 _I need a bath._ Hermione frowned as she took inventory of her sticky body and hair. _Desperately._

 

Hermione glanced at her very relaxed Dragon and suppressed a giggle. She delicately plucked a piece of honey-covered cheese off of his back and arched a brow. 

 

Draco eyed it and then grinned cheekily. Snatching it from her grasp, he ate it in one bite. "I'm hungry."

 

Hermione's joyous laughter echoed in the cavern. 

 

000

 

The forest was very old. Ancient and twisted, the branches of the trees wove together creating a twisted canopy of bare branches and shadows in the scantly beams of late afternoon light. 

 

The man picked his way through the maze of dead branches and decomposing leaves surely, feet swift and silent on the half-frozen ground. Although the darkness was creeping in through the trees, he showed no sign of stopping his journey to make camp. 

 

He led a sturdy bay gelding piled high with oddly shaped parcels by the reins as he dodged the worst of the early spring mud. Every so often he raised his face to the dying sunlight, enjoying the last of the day’s scant warmth. 

 

He stopped, suddenly. The plodding horse slipped on the slippery leaves and mud, startling the poor creature. Digging its hind legs deeply into the soft earth, it gained some leverage on the slick ground. It reared up, forelegs flailing, sharp hooves coming within inches of the man’s skull.

 

The man did not move. His annoyed gaze pierced the animals deep brown eyes, and the animal went preternaturally still. The man placed a hand on the bridle for a moment, pulling the horses’ head level to his own. Man and beast stared at each other for long moments, until the bay started to tremble. 

 

Seemingly satisfied, the man let go of the bridle. He turned his face to the southerly wind, his sharp brows scrunched up in thought. 

 

A white cloud of frozen breath surrounded his face as he inhaled and exhaled deeply through his nose, bright eyes closed. 

 

Suddenly, the man opened his eyes and smiled. White teeth flashed in the gathering darkness, and the man pulled on the reins of the cowed gelding, veering sharply to the south. 

 

000

 

One day, at the first melting of spring, their peaceful life was disturbed again by the thrumming of wings. 

 

Draco had coaxed Hermione into the hot spring with him, teasing her relentlessly about her fascination with modesty until she cracked. Currently, they were sitting in the hot pool, sitting on the wide bench. Hermione sat behind Draco, her back to the wall, washing his back. 

 

“So… When are you going to stop biting me?” Hermione asked casually as she dipped the sponge into the water again, wetting it. “Certain areas are getting rather tender.” 

 

Draco slanted a wry glance at his mate, “When the bond is complete, the urge to mark you will subside,” He chuckled lowly. “But you’ve never complained before.”

 

Hermione wrung the soapy sponge out over his head. 

 

Draco sputtered, indignant, as Hermione giggled. “You’ll pay for that!” 

 

Mid-lunge, Draco froze. 

 

Hermione, expecting a dunking, blinked in surprise. “What is it?”

 

“Someone is coming.” Draco said, stone-faced and tense. “Get dressed. Now.” 

 

Hermione scrambled out of the steaming pool and tossed the sponge to the side. Cursorily running a towel over her soaked skin, she wicked off most of the excess moisture. Hurriedly, she pulled on her robes, fumbling with the fastenings in her haste. 

 

As she dressed, she watched Draco for any signs of aggression. If this was going to be a bad visit, she would rather go into it prepared. Draco’s powerful muscles were coiled, tense and ready to spring. Hermione could practically taste the magic and brimstone in the air as Draco prepared to change into his Dragon form. His nostrils flared, scenting the charged air, searching out the identity of the intruder… 

 

_Splash._

 

Draco slid, boneless, into the hot water. “It’s alright Hermione.” 

 

Hermione stared at him, hands frozen awkwardly whilst wrestling with the damp silk gown she was desperately tugging into place. “Oh.” 

 

As she had definitely heard wings, she had an inkling of what was to come. _Please don’t be who I think it is_. “Why’s that?” 

 

“My father has just arrived.” 

 

_Damn._

 

Hermione’s formerly nerveless fingers flew into action. _Damn, damn, triple damn._

 

As she hurriedly fastened the ties of her gown, and in general make her appearance other than that of a scullery maid, Lucius emerged from the piles of treasure. 

 

He was clothed haphazardly in one of the spare robes, so loosely tied that Hermione could clearly see a broad expanse of heavily muscled chest. 

 

Draco bowed his head formally in greeting, an act that was oddly incongruent with his nudity and his casual pose. “Good morning Father.”

 

Lucius bowed his head slightly in return. 

 

“Care for a soak?”

 

Lucius’ steely eyes brightened considerably and he disrobed without warning. Hermione was stunned with mortification but found that she could not look away. He was shorter and more compact than his son – Draco leaned towards grace instead of the heavy muscle of Lucius but they were clearly from the same brutal mold.

 

Lucius stepped into the steaming water and sighed contentedly. “I loathe flying in this weather. It is still too bloody cold out.” 

 

Belatedly, Hermione felt her cheeks heat, sure that her face was a bright scarlet. She turned away sharply and quickly finished fastening her gown. 

 

Draco, his eyes caught by her swift movements, chuckled. “I do believe you’ve shocked my mate, father.”

 

Lucius slowly blinked and looked at Hermione as if she were a bug marring his pristinely silver wing. “Humans. I had almost forgetten their modesty,” he sneered. “How… quaint.” 

 

Hermione flushed brighter as she toweled her mass of hair dry. Losing her temper, she snapped. “I wasn’t aware that Dragons were prone to senility. Perhaps you should see a healer?” 

 

Against all expectations, Draco’s father did not disembowel her for her sass. Instead, he simply smiled wide, showing sharp teeth. “Your mate grew a spine, son.”

 

Draco laughed, his face relaxed and happy. “You have no idea at all, Father. None.” 

 

Hermione frowned sourly and pointedly ignored Draco. Instead, she asked Lucius politely, “Will you be joining us for supper?” 

 

Lucius took his time, leaning back into the steamy water, wetting his hair into a silver streak down his back. “I do believe I will,” he sneered, showing sharp teeth. “Now go and leave me with my son.” He nodded curtly in dismissal.

 

A muscle in Hermione’s jaw spasmed and her hands clenched the soft Egyptian cotton of the towel tightly. Abruptly, she turned on her heels and stormed off in the direction of the living area. 

 

Draco groaned and glared at his father. 

 

Lucius just smirked. 

 

000

 

Luckily, the supper Hermione had planned for that evening was elaborate. She had been in a culinary mood recently, and had planned to cook a rack of lamb, rubbed with oil, garlic, mint and mustard. A cheesy potato soup was simmering in a pot on the coals. 

 

With the addition of a cheese and bread course, fruits and a cake Draco had brought that morning, she was moderately certain that Lucius would not ridicule her table. 

 

Moderately. 

 

So, when Draco returned from the spring earlier than Hermione expected - naked, hair wet, skin flushed - Hermione was in a frenzy of industry. She screeched at him to put some clothes on and he pulled on a robe, chuckling. 

 

While she diligently stirred and seasoned, chopped and sliced, he disappeared into his piles of treasure. When he returned, he was carrying a giant table, made from a dark, deep cherry wood. It was polished to a mirror shine, and carved with scenes of Dragons razing a village of screaming peasants. 

 

 _Well,_ Hermione thought dryly, _Perhaps that will put His Highness in a good mood._

 

Draco dropped the table with a careless _bang_ and turned back to meander through his horde again. A few more trips, and three mismatched table settings appeared. 

 

The table was set, the food was ready. All was waiting until His Dragonness decided to grace them with his presence. 

 

When Lucius finally showed himself, it was actually rather anticlimactic. He sat without waiting for the Lady to be seated. He waited, silently, patiently to be served. When the soup was poured, he ate without comment. He barely glanced at the elegantly appointed table, nor did he comment on the amount or quality of the food. He certainly did not compliment his hostess. 

 

Hermione fumed silently as she sipped their hot soup. _Remember, Dragon customs are very different from Human customs. Perhaps he doesn't mean to insult me. Even if their manners are bestial, at least they don’t eat like animals._

 

By the time they were halfway through the entrée, they group had yet to speak a word. Hermione, sick of the silence, decided to distract herself by utilizing the one weapon at her disposal – her wits. 

 

“My Lord, what brings you to our home today?” Hermione delicately sliced her lamb with a practiced grace. Bringing the small bite to her mouth and chewing slowly, she arched a brow in the older Dragons’ direction. _I will not be intimidated!_

 

Lucius’s impeccable silver eyebrows lifted slightly, but otherwise he made no outward sign of surprise that Draco’s human mate broke the silence. Swirling ruby-red wine in his golden Roman goblet, he slanted a glance at his silent son. 

 

Draco studiously ignored his father and continued to eat, efficiently putting away as much food as he possibly could without sacrificing his dignity. 

 

Lucius took a long slow sip of his wine, pausing dramatically, letting the tension build. Finally, he leaned forward, body held tight and still. “I have been charged to tell you of a Gathering.” 

 

Draco stilled, fork poised mid-bite. A growl rose, unconsciously, from his throat. Silver eyes took on a subtle glow, his massive frame practically vibrating with strain. 

 

Lucius stiffened and bared his teeth at his son, shifting his weight smoothly in his chair, poised to spring. Draco’s growl subsided, barely. 

 

Hermione, alarmed by this strange interplay of body language, tried to distract the Dragons from their strange, mostly silent confrontation. “What is a Gathering?” 

 

Eyes never quite leaving Draco, Lucius smiled at Hermione, lips pulled back from sharp fangs in a razor edged mockery of a grin. “It is a meeting of Dragons.” 

 

“So I gathered,” Hermione said dryly, annoyed and not caring that her attitude was not helping an already strangely tense situation. If the lizards were going to posture vaguely about a meeting of other lizards, than it was their business, not hers. Until they decided to de-mystify themselves, Hermione was going to find out as much information as possible. 

 

“Tell me more about it,” Hermione said. 

 

Draco was on the edge of his chair, his hands gripping the edge of the table so hard he was leaving claw marks in the hard wood. “No need. We’re not going.”

 

Hermione raised a brow, “Come again?” 

 

“We are not going.” Draco spat out, jaw clenched. 

 

“The last time we had an argument like this, I believe we came to an arrangement about my freedoms in exchange for my agreement to mate.” Hermione narrowed her eyes threateningly. “You aren’t going back on your word, are you?” 

 

Draco rolled his eyes and sneered, “Yes, and look how well _that_ worked out.”

 

“Well, if you had just left Ron alone, we wouldn’t have…”

 

“Left that prick alone!” Draco screamed, interrupting Hermione’s rant.” His hands were all over you!”

 

“Ronald is just my friend…”

 

“Children!” Lucius lifted a hand, effectively silencing the duo. “As entertaining as this is, I’m afraid you don’t have any choice in the matter. The Gathering is being held in your honor.” 

 

Hermione shot Draco a triumphant look while grinning. 

 

Lucius caught Hermione’s gaze, and pinned her with an intense stare, his face gravely serious. Slowly, Hermione’s smile faded and a strange sense of dread pooled in her belly. 

 

Finally, after a long, uncomfortable silence, Lucius spoke carefully. “The community is very… anxious… to greet you.” 

 

Hermione smiled weakly as the implications of an extended amount of time around other Dragons began to sink in. _Why does that sound like I’m being offered up for dinner?_

 

000

 

It was late and the fire had burned to embers. Hermione had fallen asleep hours before to the soothing rumble of Dragon baritone. 

 

The two silver Dragons sat underneath the cloud-streaked night sky, the weak moonlight reflecting eerily off of their strange skin. 

 

The leaner Dragon curled up onto itself, his head resting heavily onto his forelegs. The larger, heavier Dragon sat on its haunches beside its son. After awhile, the younger Dragon grumbled softly, _It is too soon Father._

 

The older Dragon turned its head sharply towards the younger. _You will be ready. I’ve made sure of that._

 

 _But my Prime is not for another five years. How can I defend her?_

 

Lucius was silent for a moment, his wedge-shaped head tilted towards the sky. He looked at his son out of the corner of his eye. _Would it be so bad to lose this mate? After all, her blood isn’t of the highest nobility._

 

Draco growled and lunged at the larger Dragon without thought. The two Dragons wrestled on the hard ground fiercely. The younger Dragon viciously clamped onto Lucius’s neck, blue fire spilling from his nose and mouth, pinning him.

 

Lucius chortled dryly from his position beneath Draco. _You’re ready. Even if you haven’t yet grown into your full power, you’re ready._

 

 _Father!_ Draco released Lucius’s throat, turning away from him in disgust. 

 

Lucius preened prissily, rubbing at the spots of dirt on his hide. _It is an honor to fight and be proven worthy of your mate, if necessary._

 

 _She’s mine,_ Draco hissed. The beast inside Draco rebelled at anyone touching his mate, at anyone _thinking_ of coveting what was his. _I won’t let anyone have her!_

 

 _There can be no formal challenge for your mate issued at the Gathering, Son. But you know as well as I that the wily ones who covet her will find another way to steal what they want._

 

Draco moodily stared at the gathering clouds, pondering this sourly. 

 

 _Your bond is strengthening. Even I can feel it. It should be strong enough to test against other males._ Lucius spread his wings, stretching them to their full span, the diamonds lining the inside sparkling in the faint light. _Now I will leave you- I will take you to the Gathering place in two weeks._

 

Lucius launched himself in the air, wings beating powerfully. 

 

Draco sat at the edge of his cavern, his home, and stared after his father sullenly. Huffing slightly in frustration, blue smoke spilling from his nostrils, he sat in silent thought. 

 

Suddenly, defiantly, he bared his teeth and roared his displeasure, blue fire erupting from his throat. _Training begins tomorrow,_ he thought grimly, _I will be ready._

 

000

 

The hunter smelt rain. 

 

The rain would cover up the trail he was following, rendering the week-old scent useless.

 

The hunter did not care. He prey never escaped once he was on their trail. He was patient. He was ruthless. He was clever. 

 

He was Harry Potter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks go to my beta Ravyn for getting me off of my butt to write this! Send her cookies and gifts, as she really helped me through some tough writing times!

**Author's Note:**

> I first started writing this back in 2006. I am in the process of moving all of my work over here, as well as finishing said work. I'd also love to thank my beta for this chapter, Lorett, who did a lovely job helping me out. C&C appreciated!


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